


Chronic

by internetboyfriends



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Chronic Pain, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetboyfriends/pseuds/internetboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya is suffering from chronic migraines and... unfortunately... Shizuo seems to be the only one who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuhm. So.... I've kind of posted this everywhere and I don't really regret it. However... Now that I'm going through it I need to let you guys know that each place this is posted, you may find some subtle variations, such as words/sentences added and the like. The story as a whole has not changed, but if you're confused and notice something odd about it compared to the last time you read it, I ran it through a loooot of edits. I also re-read it myself a few weeks ago to see if there was anything I would change now that I'm re-posting it here to AO3.
> 
> Writing Chronic was a wonderful experience for me and I'm never going to forget it. And since Durarara!! ended almost two months ago (the novels), I decided I wanted to re-post old stories to new sites, as I'm pretty new to AO3.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

They’re getting worse.

And as I lay here on my back, I wonder how long it will take for this one to dissipate. Could be hours… or days…

What about when it ends? How much time of relief I will have before the next one strikes is beyond me. I try not to think about it. I simply want it to go away.

I keep my eyes closed because, when open, everything spins. Everything glows. Like lanterns all around me. Lanterns whose flames want burn out my eyes. It hurts. The dizziness shoots down to my stomach, and even when emptied for the tenth time, I still find myself surrendering to the dry heaves that follow, as if I can truly throw up the pain.

Most would find a sight of a shimmering aura beautiful. Not I. To me, nothing is more hideous because I know what it means. I _feel_ it. Beauty rests only on the surface. Pain runs deep and unforgiving.

Surrounding noises give strength to the agony as well. Even the smallest feel like the roars of some uncontrollable beast, unleashing its relentless rage on my weakened system. Every click, whoosh, buzz, beep, tap, slam…

Regular city sounds.

They reverberate in my head. The throbbing strikes my entire body like a body builder attacking my brain with a hammer.

Lately, they’ve become so intense that it hurts to move any and every tired muscle.

The suffering that started on the right side of my head slowly began to extend down to my knees.

I feel helpless.

Paralyzed.

Each fragment of any given cacophony feels like bad news to my ears.

With a horrifying amount of force, I drag my aching body out of bed, stumbling as the blood rushes from my brain; yet the pain stays put.

This has gone on for far too long.

I can’t work. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can barely see.

Ibuprofen does nothing anymore.

I don’t want to be sick. I don’t want to be weak. So this is a big step for me… actually _asking_ for help…

My phone sits at my desk downstairs, far from my bed so that its constant vibrations are less irritating to my senses. By the time I reach it, my entire form is trembling under the weight of the pain. I could puke if I’d had anything to eat in the past forty-eight hours. Simply taking the black device in my hand is a challenge.

Convinced that I may never again reach my bedroom at this rate, I trudge over to the couch and lay down once more. Sliding my phone open, I flinch at its fluorescent light, regretting the move instantaneously.

“Fuck…” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at the screen.

I can’t bear to look at it for long. So I hurry to make the call.

The sound of the ring back tone damn near kills me.

Fucking nerd better answer before I cut my own head from my shoulders.

“Kishitani Residence,” a sudden voice picks up, sounding all too cheery, in blatant opposition to my yet-to-be clarified misery.

An unrestrained whimper escapes me at the sound of Shinra’s voice.

“Huh…? Izaya, is that you?”

Taking a moment to breath heavily, I swallow my pride, fighting past the torture as best I can. “Y-yeah…”

“You sound like you’re hurt,” he states matter-of-factly. I can just imagine the curiosity on his face while he pushes his stupid glasses up the bridge of his stupid nose.

“I… I…” I can’t speak.

“Did Shizuo get you with another vending machine? You know if he did, you should just come over, I’ll patch you up. Or shall I send my lovely Celty to come pick you up? Not that you really deserve the help when you instigate fights like that...”

“N-no…” I hiss between my teeth. “C-come… over.”

“Jeez… what happened? You sound horrible.”

I’ve tried too long to keep this secret of mine - blaming a heavy work load for my ambiguity. For being relatively invisible between Shinjuku, Shibuya, and of course, Ikebukuro. Instead, I’ve sent out what is left of my own subordinates - lesser informants - to do by bidding. And that crass assistant of mine only shows her face twice a week.

Namie knows something is wrong, but I could never actually tell her. I won’t.

Passing these details along to Shinra is bad enough.

“Just…” I’m about to yell at him to hurry up and stop asking questions, but a wave hits me hard in the forehead. “ _Now_.”

 

* * *

 

I’m holding back from showing him just how much it hurts.

With my head held in my hands, I can feel my body trembling. I wonder if he can see it. I wonder how obvious I am.

I hear his pen scratching across papers held in place by a clipboard. The sound is something akin to nails raking down a blackboard. It makes me nauseous.

For the past hour, Shinra has been asking me questions, and now I believe he is researching my answers.

“Have you gone to a certified physician?” he asks me, replacing the scraping of the pen with his boyish voice.

“N-no,” I say, shaking my head slightly.

“You should. You ought to get a CAT scan or something.”

“I thought you were a good enough doctor to figure this out without all that shit,” I whisper, falling back into the couch with my arm draped over my eyes.

“It’s just a suggestion.”

“What do you think it is then?”

Shinra sighs a sigh I always hate to hear. With him, if an expression like that breaks his sadistic, bubbly exterior, it’s always bad news. Not news that makes you think, “Well that sucks.”

Legitimate _bad_ news.

“You say you’ve had these headaches for six months, and the severity is increasing?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And they’re screwing with your vision, and motor skills?”

“Mhm…”

“Judging by the length in which you say they’re lasting, I don’t think it’s a tumor or anything you have to worry about,” he sounds optimistic in this regard… but… “However, you’re not going to like my diagnosis.”

“Ne…?”

“How many times has Shizuo _actually_ gotten a hold of you in your fights?”

“The hell kind of question is that?” I snap.

“Well, I think you’re developing chronic migraines due to too many head injuries. Instead of brain damage or immediate injury, the pain you shouldn’t have been able to withstand is, in a sense, catching up with you. Perhaps your adrenaline put a temporary stop to it at the time, but now...”

Removing my arm from over my eyes, I shoot a scowl at my friend. “So you’re saying this is that fucking barbarian’s fault!?”

“W-well not completely! I mean… you do have a tendency to instigate a lot of your… uhm… what’s the word I’m looking for…”

“Shinra! Seriously!?”

And I’ve never wanted Heiwajima Shizuo to die quite so much as I do now. How I want to drive my knife through his chest, straight into his heart and sever his animalistic life from this world. I want to see that stupid blond ogre choke on his own fucking blood. I want to give him a taste of just how much it hurts.

Better yet, I could jab my blade into his idiot brain. Give him a taste of what it’s like to lose sleep for days on end because my head hurts so fucking bad that I can’t find a space dark enough, let alone quiet enough, to ease the suffering.

I want to fucking kill him. I don't just want him to die. I want to rip the life out of him myself.

“Look,” Shinra says calmly, “Before you go on a vengeful tirade in that creepy, passive-aggressive way of yours, I can help.”

“Help by dissecting that imbecile with a chain saw.”

Instead, the doctor reaches into his bag and pulls out his pill stash. “Or I could just medicate you,” he smirks.

“Screw that. I don’t want some weird array of chemicals in my body!” I protest.

“So you don’t want to feel better?” he asks knowingly, holding up a specific bottle.

Leering at him, I snatch it out of my hand, proceeding to examine the tablets. “These things are huge.”

“Hm. Yeah. Take these whenever you feel a migraine coming on,” he nods. “They’ll do the trick.”

I pop one in my mouth, finding it difficult to swallow. Does he really expect me to take one every time my head hurts? Does he know how often it does?

Shinra packs up his things and heads for the door. “Anything else I can do to help?” he wonders before making his leave.

“Yeah,” I nod, “Tell anyone - _especially_ Shizu-chan - about this, and you’re dead.”

The sadistic fuck giggles and heads out the door. His annoying laughter aptly reminds me of the pain bouncing around in my body like a Mexican jumping bean.

Fuck migraines.

Fuck Shizuo.

Fuck everything.

I didn’t ask for this.

 

* * *

 

Three days have passed.

I’ve determined that the pills Shinra gave me were the shittiest painkillers ever prescribed by a doctor to his patient. Those massive horse tranquilizers barely granted me any relief.

Yesterday, I took three at once. At most, they helped me sleep through a half the night.

But now, as I walk into Ikebukuro, I wish I had taken eight more.

Today is better than most. Getting a decent night of sleep is probably the only reason I’m able to walk right now. I can’t think of a single thing that has caused me more pain than these atrocious headaches of mine, which does nothing but remind me that it’s all that protozoan’s fault.

Gritting my teeth, I silently curse his existence as I make my way to the hospital for a doctor’s appointment. Since Shinra’s weak painkillers are absolutely useless against my monstrous migraines, I’m taking his advice and having my head looked at. Though, I don’t know why, because I don’t think there’s a single person in this city who isn’t familiar with my name. Most of which think I’m insane - and that I have some sort of mental malfunction that makes me act like some sort of sociopath. I'm not going to act like I don't give them reason, though. I need my humans on point.

Keeping my hood up and my sunglasses on, I hide myself as much as possible from all sources of light. I’m even staying in shadows as I go. It’s bad enough to have to feel this pain. Hiding from it is even worse. And if anyone recognizes me, I’m sure it won’t take long for them to clearly recognize just how awful I feel and aim to make it worse.

In the waiting room at the hospital, I can feel the curious eyes of my humans settling on me. Instead of responding like I would so love to, I keep my eyes shut, waiting for the nurse to say, “Nakura-san, the doctor will see you now.”

Like hell I’m going to let these ordinary people (my love for them aside) know that Orihara Izaya bears a physical flaw to his being, as I already find it difficult to swallow.

But this floor is so busy…

Sound surrounds me, enveloping me relentlessly. Alongside the pain, the throbbing picks up, beginning slow and dull, like a fading heartbeat, only for each cough, cry, laugh, ring, song, to bring it further and further out of hibernation.

My hands begin to quiver. A sensation which begins at my fingertips and works its way up my arms to join my brain.

When I’m ready to explode, I lean forward and -

“Nakura-san, the doctor will see you now.”

I stand up quickly, automatically carrying myself away from as many noises as possible. Inside an examination room, I sit on the table, and wait for the physician. All the while, the pain is worsening. I feel like I’m going to explode.

When the doctor finally does come in, my migraine has reached such a high point that I can barely hear what he’s saying. Instead, I tell him what has been going on. I tell him about my skewed vision, nausea, and insomnia. I tell him that a friend of mine is a doctor, but not a very good one. And he understands without asking me a million questions.

Within ten minutes, I’m in a very cold room, on an even colder table.

The nurse is telling me not to move, which is hard, because the hum of the machine as it pulls me in makes it difficult not to flinch.

Half an hour later the doctor has results.

“Fortunately, your friend is right,” he says, “You don’t have a tumor. However, your migraines can be attributed to head injury. Have you gotten hurt recently, Nakura-san?”

“Huh?” I try not to sneer when he asks me this. “Hurt?”

“Hit your head, or maybe got into a fight or an accident of some sort?”

“No,” I lie, honestly unable to remember the last time Shizuo and I had a fight, let alone a fight in which he won.

“It’s quite possible that it’s a misfire in your genetics. I’ll prescribe you some medications specific to your case.”

I thank him.

Showing myself out, I walk to the pharmacy, relieved to know that I don’t have a tumor. Eager to keep these migraines from taking control of my life.

-

The label reads, “Take as needed.”

Without hesitation, that’s exactly what I do. In fact, I swallow two. And I am pleased that they are significantly smaller than the shit Shinra gave me.

That crap was useless, and within ten minutes, I can already feel relief coming over me.

Hopefully, it continues to work. I’d like to get my life back without anyone knowing that Orihara Izaya has a small, debilitating weakness.

Now, I can go home and –

“OI! FLEA! THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Can I just say… shit?

With my hood pulled down over my eyes, my slow treading evolves into a brisk walk down the street at the sound of his voice. Maybe I can evade him this time. At least until I regain the strength to murder him for what he has done to me.

“Hey, trash! I know you heard me!”

Is he… really following me?

And did he really just refer to me as trash?

I stop in my tracks, taking a deep breath. This new medication isn’t helping quickly enough, and the anxiety I feel as I sense him approaching closer is almost upsetting.

“What do you want, Shizu-chan?” I sigh, “Can’t you see I’m leaving?”

“Your evil stench is polluting the air. The fuck are you up to now?” he venomously spits, gripping a street sign as I face him.

My eyes narrow. “I’m going home.”

“Don’t lie. You look shadier than usual dressed like that.”

In retaliation to his primitive assumptions, I force a laugh. “Whatever. I’m not in the mood to play today. Go find someone else to beat up on, will you?”

“Not til you’re dead, Flea.”

“You think it takes something as trivial as a stop sign to bring me down, Shizu-chan?” my smirk is forced too. “Generally, it takes pesticides to destroy a parasite. Will you ever learn?”

“I think squashing you like the insect you are will do the trick just fine,” he growls.

Nonchalantly as possible, I turn around and keep walking. “I told you, already. I’m not in the mood.”

This blond baboon certainly isn’t helping the headaches which he is to blame for. But I know I can’t let him see what kind of pain I’m in. If he knows this is his fault, he’ll start a happy riot.

“Then what the fuck are you acting so sketchy for?”

That’s it.

I can’t fucking take this anymore. On one end, my brain is still pounding against the inner walls of my skull. On the other, the cause of it is two meters away from me, staring me down with those violent eyes of his.

Of all days, why _today_?

“If you must know,” I snap suddenly, seething, “I’m headed home from a doctor’s appointment.”

I am incredulous as my angry adversary takes a careful step back, eyes widening. “Whoa…” he mutters, staring at his feet as he scratches his head in subtle disbelief.

“What, Shizu-chan?” I breathe heavily, through my nose.

“N-nothing,” Shizuo stutters, “I just… Never seen you mad like that, I guess.”

“Yeah, well…” I sniff, feeling no reason to explain myself.

Thoroughly pissed off; wanting nothing more than to be left alone at this point, I don’t finish my sentence. Instead, I stomp off and continue my journey home before he decides to use yet another street sign against my skull.

I swear that, as I make my leave, my ire toward that idiot is outweighing the painkillers, because by the time I reach my front door, my hands are shaking more than ever before while I fumble with my keys.

Once the door is unlocked, I stumble into my apartment, struggling with the pill bottle in my hands.

I actually feel lucky when my body clumsily makes it to the safety of my bed.

Within twenty minutes, I’m feeling subtle relief. Still much more than what Shinra’s drugs did for me, this prescription is better than nothing. So I take another, wondering how long it’ll be before my body needs a refill. I want to think it’ll be weeks. Two or three. But the soft glow to every object in my line of sight says I’ll be lucky to make it to three days. Four will be a miracle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, guys! thanks for reading! i'm sorry i'm slow at updating... even though i have this story everywhere... WAAAH.

Okay.

So maybe three days was a bit of an exaggeration for sixty pills.

However, I am heading back to the hospital nine grueling days later to have my prescription refilled. This _cannot_ be healthy.

One at a time does nothing. Two at a time clears my vision, eliminating the haze for a few hours. Three gets me out of bed, reducing the nausea. Four makes it possible to sleep through the night. And five gets me high. _Painfully_ high.

The problem is that they wear off too fast. And they certainly don’t clear the pain. Instead, it’s survivable.

In other words: these little pills aren’t good enough.

These chronic migraines are going to end me long before Shizuo does. I believe this. Tuesday and Thursday, I was relatively pain-free, giving me the opportunity to complete a few jobs on my own before my physical defects send me into early retirement. Yesterday was Sunday. I made it through the morning, but by four o’clock, I sent myself to bed for the remainder of the day.

Today, Monday, I’m forced out of the house for the sake of feeling better. I took my last two pills this morning.

Again with my sunglasses, I force myself to appear normal on the streets of Ikebukuro.

Stupid Shizuo.

He always demands I stay out of this city. And here I am because I don’t have much in the line of choices. This hospital is the closest to my apartment. He can’t stop me from coming here to get what I need. Honestly, I should make him pay for it. I don’t care about insurance, and I don’t care if I instigate some of our fights. And I don’t care if he makes shit for money. I should make him pay for fucking up my life like this.

The whine of a horse pierces through my ear drums as it approaches.

Doubling over, I cup my hands over my ears, shivering as the pain runs down my spine like a knife.

“Ngh…” I groan pathetically.

I don’t look up from my siege of agony until an arm links with my own, tugging me upright.

Panting, I press my palm into my forehead before I find the courage to open my eyes. Meeting my own reflection in Celty’s helmet, I ignore her for just a moment to examine myself.

These days, I don’t turn the lights on when I go to the bathroom. Be it for a shower, or simply to wash my hands, the lights remain off to protect my sensitive head. Sometimes, I wish I could just go blind. I may as well be with the way I keep my eyes closed all the time. That way, my irises wouldn’t be so sensitive. And I could have some mild relief from this malfunction of mine.

I look like absolute hell. Like I just escaped an insane asylum. Like I just spent ten years in solitary confinement while I was there.

[ _Are you okay!?_ ]

Celty’s message breaks my attention away from her reflective helmet.

“I’m fine…” I lie, apathetic toward how obvious of a lie it is.

[ _You look sick. I’ll take you home with me and have Shinra take a look._ ]

This makes me laugh. Hard. So, that bastard finally decided to listen to me, did he? How funny. Yet, to not even tell Celty? That’s new in its own twisted way.

“I already did,” I explain to her, “He was useless.”

If she had a face, she would be frowning. I can sense it. Something about her body’s movements, along with the awkward spurts of smoke from her sleeves and helmet, make her easily predictable.

“Actually, I am a bit surprised he didn’t tell you… I assumed Shinra tells you everything.”

Her body trembles with a bit of anger. She quickly types her next message.

[ _So did I._ ]

Sighing, the very next thing I know, I’m venting to the Dullahan about my chronic migraines, Shinra’s uselessness, and the drugs I’ve been taking to help me through the pain. She now understands why I’ve given her less jobs than usual, and why I lost my cool with Shizuo last week - which, apparently, he got right on ranting to her about after the incident.

When I’ve run out of words, I can’t describe how much better I feel despite the pain in my head. Still, there has been a weight lifted from my chest due to putting my frustrations into words qualified to define them.

[ _Get on my bike. I’ll give you a ride to the hospital._ ]

“Wait.”

I stop, momentarily wondering if the chill that just tore down my spine split the skin.  
  
Trembling with an uneven mixture of agony and anxiety, I turn to face him before climbing on the back of Celty's motorbike.  
  
"What could you possibly want this time?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes on him.  
  
Ignoring me for the moment, Shizuo sets his focus on Celty. Something about her body language reads as frantic, much like a child caught eating dessert just before dinner is served.  
  
"You don't really believe all that crap, do you?" he eyes her, carefully, as if she has betrayed him.  
  
She turns away, guilty of her innocent sins.  
  
"The Flea is doing something shady," he growls through his clenched jaw. "Don't get tangled up in his lies. You're better than that."  
  
Exasperated, I sigh. Nausea is sneaking up on me again. I know if I don't get to the hospital for my prescription soon, I'm going to throw up my breakfast. And just so we're clear, there is nothing appealing about puking udon or any other type of noodle. Dare I shudder at the thought.  
  
"What makes you so sure of that, Shizu-chan?" I interrogate him, aggravated by his constant assumptions toward me.  
  
"Look at you," he scowls. "You've been out of Ikebukuro for months, and suddenly you start showing up again, trying to disguise yourself with those over-sized sunglasses and that stupid gray jacket. What am I supposed to think?"  
  
I feign the most offended gasp I can muster in my current, downtrodden state, reaching up to clutch the ebony fur trim of my new coat. I haven't abandoned the other one. It's February. This one is warmer! "STUPID?! Don't go comparing my belongings to yourself, Shizu-chan," I bite.

The blond ignores my retort. "What are you up to, Izaya? What are you scheming?"

He steps closer, clenching his strong fists. At any moment, I'm sure he'll be ready to throw them at me. However, I have neither the strength to evade him; nor the desire to fight. Then again, if he hits me, I know I'll end up feeling worse.

"I'm going to the hospital," I say dryly. Why should I lie?

"I don't believe you."

He never does. I could be falling to my death from the World Imports building and he still wouldn't believe me if he witnessed it himself.

"Why is that?"

"Cause you always go to Shinra. We both do."

"Ever stop to think that as an underground physician, there's only so much he can do?" I question logically. "Not all of us are indestructible gorillas."

With that, I move to join Celty on the black bike, but the idiot grabs me by my upper arm, ripping me backwards. My head snaps back, instantly feeling as though it has just been messily torn from my shoulders. In his grasp, my body frozen by the overwhelming chill of intolerable pain.

As I lose focus, everything sounding and appearing as if I were trapped under water, I watch Celty - seemingly so far away - leap off her bike and pry me out of this man's deadly grip.  
  
When Shizuo releases me from his vice, I fall against the closest wall, still stunned. My migraine echoes vengefully through my entire body.  
  
You know those scenes in movies, when something happens to a lead character? Their entire world slows down around them for moments that feel like hours, only to suddenly push them back into a reality that seems all the more sped up?  
  
This is exactly what happens to me. My life is in slow motion before me.  
  
The pain dulls my senses, and now every sight, smell, and sound feels like it's murdering me. Stabbing me over and over with the same blunt knife. Gasping for relief, I search my pockets for pills I no longer have. My knees cave, refusing to hold me up any longer.  
  
"Ngh... aaahn..." I can't help the string of whimpers that follow the pounding rhythm in my head.  
  
My body curls into myself as I hook my hands around the back of my skull, digging my fingernails into my scalp as if it were at all possible to tear out the massive influx of agony.  
  
I can't keep fighting this. I can't even hide it anymore.  
  
This thing... this curse... it _owns_ me, controlling my every move by prodding at my body; keeping me weak.

I'm helpless to fight it.  
  
I'll never be free. 

 

* * *

 

 

Do you want to know what it _really_ feels like? I mean really and truly? May I paint you a vivid picture with my words?  
  
It feels like I've been walking around wearing a ball and chain around my neck, and instead of building up the muscle to resist its weight, it has gradually broken me down over these torturous months. Stretching my muscles. Cracking my bones. My head feels the weight of so much pressure…  
  
Though, this isn't imprisonment.  
  
This is hell.  
  
Inescapable. Unmistakable. Hell.

No. Wait.

I will go as far as to say that I would prefer Hell to whatever this is.  
  
I can't do it anymore. I can't. I can't. I can't.

I'm done.

This is Orihara Izaya giving up.

Void of strength, I allow myself to become a vulnerable heap molding into the pavement. It hurts less if I stop caring. It hurts less to let the migraines win. And I’ll be damned if I’m about to reach out for help because of it.

I’ll stay here until it passes; then I’ll hail a cab to take me home.

Am I letting my guard down this way? Yes.

Am I making myself a clearer target to my enemies? Yes.

Is this ridiculous, even for me? Yes.

If this is how I have to live the rest of my life... so be it. I'll figure something out. Later.  
  
I'll be fine soon. Maybe not now. Maybe not in the immediate future, but soon enough. I will conquer this eventually. And when I do, I will ruthlessly murder Heiwajima Shizuo.  
  
I don't care if these people see me weak, or suffering. Let them stare. Let them talk. Let them spread their rumors, as it is fuel to my fire. I can't even hear them anymore. I can't hear anything over the steady thumping in my head.  
  
Hm...  
  
At least - if nothing else - I am beginning to feel warm against the chill of winter, as the new spring season slowly rolls in. Warm with a drowsy heat, like that of a fireplace in the dead of a snowstorm. The kind of warm that little girls believe fairytales are made out of, with that climactic sense that things don't get much better than this. Warm with the tingling sensation that I will have my revenge.

This heat which I hold responsible for making me forget my messed up head. This affliction, aching so much that it has finally become a sultry numbness.

If this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life, I suppose this isn't so bad. If my selection of choices grows thin - if pills can do nothing to free me - this is what I choose. To fall so deeply into paroxysm that I can’t feel it anymore.  
  
Drowning in the misery. It doesn't become a part of me. I become a part of it.  
  
Well, that's just fine.  
  
Have your way with me, anguish. See how much I care. 

 

* * *

  
  
"Always with the damn lights!" I hiss, coming out of a daze; migraine still in tow.  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
I witness Shinra retreating back a bit as my eyes come into mild focus, again with the usual haze settling on everything I see.  
  
"Why am I here?" I ask in a demanding tone, taking mental note of how tired I sound.   
  
"Well..." the doctor scratches the back of his head, "Shizuo didn't exactly believe you… about your... condition..."   
  
"Tch. Figures."

And it figures that I would be the fucking idiot who let the brute find out in the first place!  
  
"I sent Celty to pick up your prescription, by the way," he stated, sounding rather proud of himself. "Shizuo went with her. They should be back any time now. How's your head?"  
  
I grumble, "You're making it worse."  
  
And he aptly shuts up after muttering a mousey apology, turning off the lights as he shows himself to his little office behind a glass wall.  
  
To be honest, I don't care whether he leaves me alone or not. All I can think about is that warmth swooping in on me again. It has left me now. Why did I come out of it? Where did it go? Why did it abandon me as if it were nothing more than a distant dream? Does it understand me only to mock me with its disappearance? Am I nothing more than a game, just has humans are a beloved game to me?  
  
I would not expect it to quench the pain, as nothing can. However, I would be lying to myself if I denied its help. That numbing heat. I need it back.  
  
The front door opens with a screech that stabs my system with a hundred-thousand needles. Muscles tightening, I clamp my eyes shut as hard as I can, riding out another ambiguous wave of torture.  
  
As one may expect, Shinra is the first to open his mouth. "Ah, I was just telling Izaya that you'd be back soon!"   
  
There is a brief moment of silence.  
  
"Did you run into any problems at the pharmacy?"  
  
More silence.  
  
"Of course, of course. He's still on the couch."  
  
Again - silence, and a single set of footsteps across the wooden floorboards.  
  
"Where'd Shizu-chan go?" I ask for my safety as Celty hands me a paper bag containing a fresh bottle of pills.  
  
I quietly read the label, pleased to see my doctor increased the dosage.  
  
[ _Smoking. Outside._ ]  
  
Celty holds out the message, and I give her a frown, disappointed that a bomb didn't fall on him while they were out. One can dream, ne?  
  
Next time. Next time it will happen. I'll make sure of it.  
  
For now, I turn my frown into another forced smirk, popping three tablets in mouth. "Good dog," I mutter. "At least that animal will listen to someone."  
  
"Look, don't go blaming me just 'cause your head is fucked up."  
  
The man in question walks through the door with his usual scowl.  
  
"You are aware that this is your fault, aren't you?"  
  
"Stop provoking me and maybe there wouldn't be a reason to wanna wipe you off the planet!" he snaps.  
  
"And what am I doing to provoke you, Shizu-chan? You're the one who comes onto me!"  
  
A light flush stains his cheeks for a few seconds as if I were accusing him of feeling something a little more intimate than pure loathing toward me. With a growl, he obliterates the redness, clenching his fists as always.  
  
"You know damn well it's your maggoty existence," he barks.  
  
Shizuo is annoying me again. Instead of having fun with his moronic opinions, I find myself irritable by his every word. I think I have every right to be pissed off; to hate him more than I ever have before. Yet, somehow, when he's near me lately, I feel like I have some idea of the animosity he feels toward me.  
  
And it fucking blows.  
  
"FYI, idiot, my 'maggoty existence' doesn't even enjoy itself anymore, thanks to you, so screw off."  
  
I admit, watching him open and close his mouth several times, unable to think of a retort, is making me feel pretty smug right now, even if there is a chance that I do deserve this. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Sorry this idiot dragged me here,” I tell Shinra, stuffing my prescription in my pocket after straightening out my coat. “And don’t try to stop me from leaving.”

“The choice is yours,” the doctor nods with the slightest of smiles, leaning back in his office chair.

Mine is better. And I’m sure he didn’t do much to help me anyway. After all, I’m the one who passed out. He’s the one whose medical expertise failed me.

Oh well. At least somebody understands the pointlessness in sticking around.

I head for the door. With my shoes on and my hand on the doorknob, I’m nearly free from these people until the one who deserves a railroad spike through his fucking skull speaks.

“So… it’s true then…” Hearing Shizuo’s frown without seeing it for myself, I smile cynically towards myself. “And it’s really… my fault…?”

I try my best not to think about my migraine. However, the fact that he has decided to make it the subject of conversation at such a time makes it a bit difficult.

Unable to help myself, I turn around with feigned incredulity. “Oh?! You mean, you _didn’t_ think it was possible for Orihara Izaya to suffer from a little thing called PAIN?!”

“Well… I…” the blond hangs his shaggy head rather shamefully, “No… I thought you were…”

“Faking it?” I finish his sentence for him, taking a slow stride back into the apartment, shoes still on. “Tell me, Shizuo -” I speak his full name to allow my animosity to sink into his senses like lemon juice in a fresh wound, “Why I would fake this? What good could it possibly do for me to stay in bed all day? What scheme could I possibly string together while I‘m collapsing on a public sidewalk?”

“Sorry,” he grumbles, “But I can’t fucking trust you.”

“You think this is about trust?” I snap.

He takes a step backwards. I follow closely, making sure he feels trapped.

“I’ve been on self-proclaimed medical leave for three months out of six,” I state, being sure to shoot daggers from my eyes, “I’m not looking to fuck up your day, Shizu-chan. I’m looking to fix _mine_.”

Ripples of pain move through my head like the aftershock of an earthquake. Flinching, I massage my temple for a moment. When the steady ministrations don’t help, I swallow another useless pill.

The chemical tablets are not enough to sway my suffering immediately. My body chooses instead to sway with increasing vertigo. To balance myself, I have no other choice than to rely on another wall, pressing myself up against it for support.

Suddenly, for reasons I cannot explain, it’s all becoming a bit silly - hilarious - in its own tedious manner.

Think about it.

Here I am, with a throbbing headache, stuffing pills down my throat like they’re tic-tacs, while the man who put me in this awful position stands on the opposing side of the room looking as if he genuinely feels guilty for what he has done. Has his protozoan brain really forgotten that we despise each other? As much as I hate him, and as much as I love to see him so gloomy, it pisses me off to no end that he is not - at the very least - reveling in this minor victory of his.

So I do what any jaded, cynical, distressed Orihara Izaya should do.

I laugh.

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” I roll my eyes mockingly, “Don’t stand there looking like you’re suffering more than I am! A brute like you. Tch…”

Watching his fingers curl into his hands, forming tight fists at his sides, I chuckle again, standing my ground as best I can. I’m not afraid of him. I mean, what more could he do to make this any worse? Migraines that give me inertia five days out of seven. Shit. He might as well kill me where I stand if he plans to do anything about it.

“I might hate you…” he grumbles, “I really, really hate you… but… I didn’t mean to…”

I scoff. “Ne? I’m sorry? So you didn’t mean for all of those vending machines, trash bins, and lampposts to hit me in the head?”

Shizuo straightens himself out a bit. “Well… yeah. I did… but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t know. Kinda defeats the purpose to kick your ass if it’s taking this long for it to catch up with you…”

“It’s not like I didn’t feel them as they were happening,” I tell him. “What do you care, anyway? Point is, I’m stuck like this until someone gets me a cure. And I owe it all to you.”

“I don’t really think that counts as a point, Izaya…” Shinra gives his two cents, immediately falling back into his own observant silence when he retrieves threatening looks from me and the blond.

“Whatever. I have better things to do,” I mutter, turning back toward my exit.

I have a warm bed to get to, and you can bet I’d much rather be tucked between the soft, cotton sheets than stuck here for another minute.

 

* * *

 

Down on the ever-bustling streets of Ikebukuro, I wave down a cab, feeling too sick to walk home. As the driver pulls to a stop, I pop another pill in my mouth hoping this one will do the trick. I should be able to sleep by the time I get back to my apartment. If not, there's always another.  
  
I hate depending on these chemicals for a false sense of relief. I keep banking on them to help me as if they'll heal me despite how truly temporary they are.  
  
I don't know why the medication isn't working. Maybe I just have to convince myself that it is. Maybe it's all psychological. The pain and the relief. Maybe I've just been stressed... for six months.  
  
Ugh.  
  
Or not…

Reaching out to open the passenger door, my hand is tugged away by a strong force which shoots a hot tingling up my arm. I freeze at the surprising sensation, my breath hitching in my throat as recent familiarity floods back to me.

That warmth…

Swallowing shock, I follow the hand wrapped around mine up a clean white sleeve until my shaded eyes settle on gold.

I give Shizuo a skeptical glare. My head pains itself even more with the slight sensation of panic.

That heat… it was…

NO!

Realization strikes me like a whack to the back of the head, hurting all the same.

He didn't!

Without a word, I narrow my eyes into fine slits, hoping my daggers are sharp enough to make him bleed. When he doesn't, I silently rip myself out of his grasp. I have no words strong or poisonous enough to verbalize just how I feel about him right now. The overpowering sensation of hatred just keeps growing within me, like a monster that needs to feed constantly in order to sustain life.

No words. Just malice.

Leaving him without retort, I climb into the patiently waiting vehicle, ignoring the driver's panicked eyes as he glances back and forth between me and my enemy. When I begin to speak directions to my building, he looks as if he's wet himself after he jolts in his seat. I smirk at the reaction, though my mind is elsewhere.

Still scowling at Shizuo as we drive away, I can't decide what bothers me more - what he has done, or what he just did.  
  
And there's no way in hell I want to believe that such a comforting sensation of tender, numbing warmth could radiate off a monster whose ire has done nothing but cause this city destruction.  
  
What a joke… yet so fascinating.  
  
That I could ever feel better in the hands of that single-celled organism is preposterous. It is more likely that Tokyo will split in half and Godzilla will emerge from the fiery gaping trench - which says a lot. Godzilla lives in the Pacific; not in the earth's mantle.

Anyway… it's not like that imbecile is the only creature on this planet that emits heat, and there are plenty of objects that do. Like heated blankets and the like.

Curiosity has always been a curse in its own way. I want to know things. About everything. However, suddenly wondering if any of those material possessions are quite so comfortable as human - if you can even call Shizuo that - heat makes me feel awkward. I don't like it. Whether or not it's because the more I tell myself how stupid it is, the more I crave it, isn't something I can clearly sort out right now.  
  
Instead, I try to remove my thoughts from such matters, because matter they do not. I may not be working much these days, but my bank account has hardly dwindled due to the fact. I have all of the means necessary. If I want cozy heat, I'll buy it.

Deciding there is no reason to fret over something so trivial, I switch my thoughts to a different subject, finding myself disappointed when they aren't too far off from the former. When the thought of Shizuo carrying me back to Shinra's apartment enters my imagination, I can't decide whether to laugh or frown.

Naturally, the mental picture of that beast begrudgingly holding me - probably because Celty made him do it - is something to smirk about. On the other hand, it infuriates me that the blond thinks he has the right to touch me, regardless of my state at the time. 

 

* * *

 

 

When I arrive home, the first thing I do is get online and order the highest rated, most expensive heated blanket I can find. I don't care how much it hurts to watch the glowing computer screen in front of my face. I don’t care if it makes this headache worse. It must be done while I try to laugh off the insane idea that fucking Heiwajima Shizuo - of all monsters - could ever be as good as this thing.

It probably costs more than what he makes in a year anyway. Plus, the purple color it’s available in would look nice in this loft of mine. Too much of this cold gray could stand to be countered by the heat of an electric blanket in a nice plum shade.

I even chose the fastest shipping available. I'll have the thing by tomorrow morning. Afternoon at the very latest.

With that taken care of, I drag myself to the kitchen, but I’m not hungry.

Realizing my appetite is shot from a taxing day, I next decide to take a hot shower, relaxing against the jet of water as it pounds into my skin; relieving much of the tension in my muscles. I stay under the stream until I am half-convinced that I've used most of the hot water in the building, as it is a nice thought to think I have it all to myself. Not to mention, focusing on the powerful jet takes my mind off of that moron, at least until my fingertips shrivel and begin to bear the same wrinkly texture as dried cranberries.

I turn off the water, immediately feeling the air nip at my skin; consequently provoking the demons in my head to stab my brain with torches and pitchforks.  
  
Afterwards, I make some herbal tea, not hesitating to take it to bed with me. The power of herbs is a wonderfully mysterious thing.  
  
Unfortunately, as I lay in my bed, waiting for the sun to fully set over Tokyo, the tea is not enough to warm me as I wish to be warmed. My bed is big... cold... lonely... doing nothing to ease the aches which begin in my skull and end at my kneecaps.

I’ve always been the type of guy that knows exactly what I want. However, as I lay here, I can’t help but feel like something is missing. Hoping it’s just because I’m a mixture of eagerness and irritably, I decide it’s better that I just go to sleep, whether or not it’s only five o’clock in the evening.  
  
No matter how much I toss and turn, searching for kip and comfort, I can't find it. All I can think about is what it felt like to lose myself in Shizuo's unbreakable hold. As temporary as it was, I haven't felt that good in months, making it all the more painful to be ripped away from it so suddenly.  
  
Why couldn't he hold on... just a little longer... just enough to stop my hands from shaking, or for my hazy eyes to experience a bit of clarity for once in these agonizing days?  
  
Will my blanket do that? Will it push away the suffering he has brought down on me, like some sort of typhoon?  


 

* * *

  
  
The answer is no.  
  
I plug in the thermal blanket, constructed of high-quality fabric and a net of wires. Turning it to the highest setting, I wait for the warmth to spread throughout the insulated material. When I've given it long enough, I wrap it around my body.  
  
I am unsatisfied from the second it brushes over my shoulders.

This thing isn't hot enough. It isn't the right kind of heat.  
  
I need something more. I need something that doesn't need to be plugged in, or charged, and that doesn't come in "your choice of ten luxurious colors." Maybe it's nice for snowstorm weather in Canada, but for what I'm feeling, this blanket does not compare to the sensation of a body at ninety-nine degrees in February pressed against mine.  
  
For when it flooded my inhibited senses, I knew immediately that there was no comparing it to anything else. It was better than the high any meds can give me. And it was warmer than the heat emitting from this overpriced square of fabric.   
  
Glancing back and forth from my new, useless blanket to my phone, I realize that I might be desperate.

God damn it. I _hate_ being desperate.  
  
Today is better than yesterday. Fortunately. A lot better. My head hurts, but for once I am nausea free with clearer vision. It's better. But I wouldn't call it good. And for once, I just want to feel… _satisfactory_ at the very least.

Good.

Truly good.

As in, good enough to leave this apartment, go for a pleasant walk, or pick up ootoro from Russia Sushi without some fear that I won’t make it there - or worse: that I don’t throw it up.

I want a day to feel like I have my life back.  
  
Could I really...?  
  
No.  
  
And then I go as far as to recall his hand around mine, with a confused look in his caramel colored eyes; verging on injured as if he had a million things he wanted to say before I stabbed him in the heart with a well-sharpened knife.  
  
He could help…  
  
If I read that gaze correctly, as some sort of discomfited apology, he might be the cure…  
  
Snickering to myself, I find the irony in such a hypothesis, that the cause of my illness may also be the cure, much like a spider's venom to its bite. To make a concoction eligible to ward off the poison, you must use it.  
  
Nature is a fucking hypocrite, even more so when it involves Shizu-chan.

Whatever. After the first time, I shouldn’t have too much of my dignity left.  
  
Dropping the blanket, I force myself up from the couch, over to my desk where I stare blankly at my phone. After I while, I press my palm into my forehead.

Fuck it.

I’m still Orihara Izaya.

I’m still brilliantly shameless, and no migraine of mine is going to get in the way of that.

Grabbing the phone, I select his number among my long list of contacts. Never before have I called him. Never before had I intended to. The only reason I have it now is because… well… because I’m an information broker. It simply seems right that I should.

As always, the dial tone bothers my senses, making it all the more relieving when he answers - until it truly hits me that this is Shizuo we’re talking about.

“Hello?” he states the greeting as a question.

Suddenly, my mind goes blank. He doesn’t know it’s me. And I don’t know how to tell him.

“I said ‘hello,’” he grumbles, “If you’re not going to answer-”

“Calm down, Shizu-chan,” I force myself to stay cool, deciding that it might be best to just let my tongue say what it must.

On the opposite end of the line, he growls; yet I swear I can hear it from across town without the phone. “How did you get my number?”

“Some might say it’s part of the job description,” I sigh, “But if you really must know, Shinra gave it to me months ago.”

“The hell do you want then? Eh, Flea?” There’s a strain in his voice. Something about the way he is speaking is different than what I’m used to. A sense of violent rage is still present, though lacking its expected animosity. I would do better to get this over with quickly.

“Yesterday.”

“What about it?”

“You carried me.”

“So…?”

“And when you grabbed my hand -”

Shizuo’s turn to sigh. “It was nothing. Just forget it, okay?”

I can’t help but let out a superior sounding chortle. “Forget? You can’t be serious, Shizu-chan.”

“Well, tough shit!” he snaps, “I am!”

“What did you think you were doing?” I press.

“Nothing. It was just impulse.”

Come on, Shizuo. I know you’re better than this, excuses or not. Then again, you are highly unpredictable to run alongside your impulsiveness…

“What do you want, Izaya?”

“Business.”

He goes silent for a long while, but I know he’s still there, attempting to process how a single word could carry so much weight.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m not doing any of your fucking filthy work for you,” he grumbles. I can just imagine him holding the phone up to his mouth as he spits these words, so bitterly. “You can fucking forget it.”

Cynically droning, I respond to his assumption with ease. “This has nothing to do with dealing information, Shizu-chan. If you would listen, you would know this is something of an entirely different matter. As a result, I would be grateful if you explained to me your rationale for grabbing my hand earlier. Impulse or not, what were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” he blatantly lies, “I just know I didn’t think you were telling the truth.”

“Hm… contrary to popular belief, it is my job to provide clients with said truth. Not everything I say is entirely dishonest. In fact, most of it is the complete truth.”

“Yeah, well…”

“ _Well_ …?” I echo.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, alright? I can’t take back what I’ve done to you. Even if you fucking deserve it, I-”

“Stop,” I cut him off.

I don’t want to hear some long apology, riddled with excuses. I know what I deserve. Shinra and I have talked it over many times, about how someday my actions would, indeed, catch up to me. I feel silly for always assuming karma would catch up to me in a much different manner than chronic headaches. I’d always envisioned something more poetic. Like murder, or suicide. That being said, nobody ever told me I can’t retaliate. And that’s precisely what I intend to do.

These migraines may as well be punishment, but I’m going to get rid of them. Somehow.

"Let's say I was willing to forgive you,” I say, attempting to be professional, as if he is no different than any other client.  
  
"Let's say you were,” his words are biting and sarcastic, but he is intrigued.  
  
Hopeful now, I smile. "My, my, Shizu-chan. A little agreeable today, aren't we? How nice!"  
  
"See how long it lasts. Keep talking."  
  
I snicker at the growl which adds a threatening inflection to the end of his sentence. "You feel guilty for what you've done; that your violence has gone this far as to inflict permanent damage on someone, even if that someone is me."  
  
"So? Make your point."  
  
"What I'm offering here is a chance for you to redeem yourself. Not only in my eyes, but in yours as well. In Ikebukuro's. You can't make up for all the things you've destroyed, but even you know that a little bit of relief is better than none. And relief is exactly what I'm after."  
  
"I told you I'm not doing any of your damn dirty work, Izaya. I knew you were up to something shady, and if you think I‘m gonna help a louse like you, you can forget it!"

So irrational. Albeit, nothing I can’t easily handle.  
  
"And I told you that it's nothing like that, ne?"  
  
Another brief moment of silence follows before I hear him release a breath. "If I help you... you'll forgive me?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Tch... Somehow, I think I'll live without it."  
  
Rolling my eyes, I sink into my office chair. Damn it. I should have known I would have to do better. Though, as much as it sickens me, I can't give up. As screwed as it is - as _I_ am - I need this neanderthal.  
  
"Ah, now don't go jumping to conclusions, Shizu-chan," I take a deep breath, unable to believe that I am actually going to extend my offer this far to the man I hate most in this universe.

Damn him for being the closest thing to a cure I can find. What kind of sick, twisted world are we living in anyway? Alas, I don’t know how much longer I can handle this torment before it kills me. I feel myself becoming weaker by the day, succumbing to these horrible days when all I want is some semblance of normality back in my life.

"Help me, and every vending machine in Tokyo will forgive you, too."  
  
"What are you saying?" he suddenly sounds severely intrigued, as if he is on the edge of his seat in anticipation.  
  
"Do this for me, and I'll pay off the debt you owe to the city for our fights."

 

* * *

 

  
  
I can hardly believe that I'm this desperate. Yet, as much as I would love to resent myself for it, I can't. I can't seem to feel like what I've just done is a mistake. Then again, I've never needed anything quite so much. It just feels... right.

Humans, including myself, are just the type of interesting creatures who would do something absolutely heinous when all other ideas have failed. I could survive the way I am, with these monstrous migraines, but as long as I don't have to, I won't. I'm willing to try anything at this point.

Surviving isn't enough. I'm too adapted to living life by my own rules, with my ridiculous standards and fluid control. Surviving is much too simple to say the least. Too animalistic for my refined tastes.

I need to live.

Moving myself back to the couch, I lay down, lightly laughing to myself with amusement. Shizuo has no idea what I'm about to use him for. Based off the promise I made to him, I wonder if he even cares.

If there's anything I'm good at, it's human beings and money. Even monsters like him can't help but give into the power of currency, especially in the copious amounts I've offered it. In my line of work, I'm lucky. Being a self-employed informant really does have its perks. Financial income has never been something to question. It has never played itself as a fear or concern. Especially not like this forthcoming migraine.

In little under a month I can make three times the cost of what that barbarian damages. Paying for the destruction is a small price to pay for relief. The fact that I have to use him in such a manner - one that requires us in such close proximity - is what I expect to be the real challenge.

By no means do I want him touching me; nor do I want to touch him. So it angers me to think that this is all his doing to begin with. I just hope he remembers that instead of letting his feelings get the better of him. This is happening because he threw one too many metal objects into my skull.

Why should I pay the price of both our actions without getting something in return?

Shizuo is surprisingly good at following directions, even when I could hear his teeth grinding together while I recited them.

At the end of the conversation, he really used that brain of his for something useful.

"How do I know you're not just gonna rip me off?" he asked me suspiciously.

I promised I'd wire it to the proper location little by little until there was nothing left.

"I want some kind of proof," he stated, very serious in his request.

"Done. I have a sickening feeling in my stomach that says I'll be seeing a lot of you, Shizu-chan. You can watch me make the transaction weekly. Think of this as a second job to coincide with your own."

"Yeah, well, whatever the hell this is, doing it doesn't make you my boss. Got it?"  
  
"Very well," I had sighed, feeling my grin slip a little. "Try to get here around five."

So now I'm waiting for the protozoan's arrival, drowning in a much needed silence as time goes by. The new blinds on my wall-length window are closed, blocking out all but the smallest slivers of natural light. I keep the apartment at seventy-eight degrees with the heat on. All sources of noise are off. Three fresh pills are dissolving into my system, but I still feel a little sick. For this I blame the stress of never knowing when to expect an attack.

Thinking about all of the things that should be is killing me slowly. I _should_ be down on the streets that I am hidden from, working with my favorite clients, observing my humans, twisting minds. I even think that Namie should be here, filing paperwork while she tells me how despicable I am when I end a call with Shiki, or cause an uproar within Dollars.

There are so many things I _should_ be doing. Being unable hurts almost as much as the reasons why.  
  
All I can do now is wait with the hopes that, as much as I despise him, he can save me from this.

* * *

 

Seven minutes past five o'clock, there's a strong knock at my door. My body jolts out of a semi-conscious trance while my hand immediately reaches for my head.  
  
Before getting up, I will my sleepy eyes to clear, allowing them to adjust to the darkness which has fallen into an already darkened room. Against the blocked window I can hear the pattering of rain - a sound I once found peaceful, now grating on my nerves as the rhythm prods my head with needles.

Hadn’t it been sunny earlier?

It feels as though I've spent the last several hours with a completely blank mind, because suddenly, there are a million thoughts buzzing like bees in my brain.

My visitor knocks again as I struggle to make it to the door, feeling out of it in my current state.

After unbolting several locks, I swing the door open, hanging myself in its frame. For a brief moment, I'm baffled to find nobody standing before me, until I see movement to my left.

My eyes narrow out of habit when they find Shizuo in the hall. He has a half-smoked cigarette between his lips and now leans against the wall.

"You're late," I grumble. “And you can’t smoke in the hall.”

He turns to look at me, raising a brow at me as if I were speaking a different language - which I easily could do if I so desired. "You said 'around five,' not _at_ five," he explains, finishing his addiction.

Thinking back, I realize he's right and turn back into my apartment without starting an argument. It isn’t worth the effort.

The blond follows me in without invitation, though I think it's obvious to us both that he doesn't need one.

"Dark in here..." he notices.

"Yeah..."

A few moments of silence pass between us.

"So are you ever gonna tell me what this is about, Flea?" he asks, clearly irate.

Throwing myself back on the couch, I don't bother with it. Right now, I'm tasked with solving the mystery of how to explain this insanity to him. I won't be surprised if, when I do, the man laughs at me, cancels our deal, and walks out.

"Let me think for a minute," I say, rubbing my tired eyes. "Sit down if you want."

"You're less moody than you were yesterday," he observes, quietly taking a seat at the other end of the couch.

I scoff on cue. And now it hits me. Now I'm beginning to feel like this was a really stupid idea.

"Before or after I dropped on the streets?" the question is a hair short of a sneer.

"Both."

I sigh dramatically, "You really do bring out the worst in me. Ne, Shizu-chan?"

"Then why am I here? Can't you get someone else to do this stupid job for you?"

I glare at him, loving the way he is threatened just enough to shift in his seat. "If there was _anybody_ else, why would I waste my time on you?"

"I dunno," he shrugs rather nonchalantly. "To piss me off, I guess."

"Why do you assume that everything I do is to provoke you?"  
  
"Cause nine times outta ten it is."  
  
I chuckle snidely, pressing my hand into my forehead. "Oh, Shizu-chan, what are you? Paranoid? In all of these years when have I ever once come to you to start a fight?"

Once. That's the answer. And I only did it because I wanted to know what it was like to start it. I took my first blow to the head with a vending machine that day. Knowing that look in his glittery gold eyes, I can see he hasn't forgotten. I also know that the only reason he hasn't hit me yet, in these past three times he has been in close proximity to me, is because he knows I feel like he's hitting me twenty-four-seven.

I guess I should consider myself lucky that Shizuo is a good enough person not to kick someone who's already down.

"What do you need me for?" he asks without answering my own question.  
  
Unable to hold back from that heat any longer, I roll myself off the couch to slowly approach his end.  
  
"Yesterday…" I swallow my wavering pride, treading too deep to turn back now. "W-when you held me... I need you to do it again."

His face is void of proper emotion with one fell swoop. Even I can't read his eyes as I stop inches away from him; mere centimeters separating me from that numbing warmth. For the life of me, I can’t figure him out. I can’t read his thoughts which, whatever they are, are not giving themselves away.  
  
"What?" he asks dryly, as if I‘ve told him an incredibly bad joke.  
  
For once I find myself actually wishing he would break out into a violent rage, if only to know he felt something - or thought something.  
  
I swallow hard, choking down my dignity. "Please."

And now I'm begging. Will my torment never end?

"Why?"

I hang my head knowing honesty is my only choice. He‘s suspicious of me enough as it is. "Because in six months… it was the first time I haven't felt like I was dying…"  
  
A lot of people like to say it feels like they're dying when they're upset or in pain. It just so happens that I'm both, and I'm more than serious. Some nights I go to bed wondering if I'll wake up the next day. Others, I go to bed hoping I won't. Most of the time, I lie awake through the night, wondering if it would just be better to die. At least then I could sleep.  
  
The tension ebbing and flowing between us is seeping into my muscles, aggravating my head as Shizuo keeps his honey-colored irises trained on mine.  
  
"You don't deserve it," he says quietly, sounding guilty as he awkwardly speaks the words. So calm. He almost sounds innocent.  
  
I nod. "I know, but I'm paying you."  
  
"How long?"

I raise a brow, feeling lightheaded by this awkwardness.

"How long do I have to do this?" he elaborates.

His eyebrow twitches delicately as he pins down that rage which he is always so desperate not to unleash.

Snapping my gaze away from his, I stare at the closed blinds which hide me from the world. No. Worse… which hide my humans from me.

“Until your debt is paid off. I won’t keep you past that.”

“I mean how long right now. Today.”

My breath hitches in my throat, suppressing my words as I bring my gaze back to his. I don’t know the answer, which only gives way to the expanse of discomfort between us.

When I can’t figure out how to respond, I pull my gaze away once again, dropping it to the floor. A light throbbing is beginning in the back of my skull. Once again, the pills have failed, but I’m too scared to reach out to the blond. For some reason, I don’t want him to judge me. I don’t want him to see me weak, even if he already has.

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t matter.

Oh, but it does…

I’d like to say, “Just until my head clears.”

But then I think that it won’t be enough. What if his heat leaves me and, like a crumbling barricade it allows the pain back in, like an army infiltrating enemy barriers? Maybe I should just tell him this is all a stupid idea. I could call it off and continue my life like this. Maybe I could just get Shinra to give me some morphine and I’ll live out the rest of my life so high on it that I can’t even remember my own name, let alone my migraines.

The more I think, the more ready I am to call off this entire thing. Sure, it’ll be a huge disappointment to us both, but maybe I’ve just truly lost my mind to this agony. Insanity begets bad ideas. My genius has been lost.

“Screw it.”

A shiver runs up my spine, hitting the oncoming migraine. I stumble back a bit when my vision finally blurs, only to be tugged forward as two hands coil around my forearms. My own heat rushes to my face against my will.

“Screw it,” he repeats himself, “It doesn’t matter.”

Before I have the right mind to protest, I’m pulled into Shizuo, who stays seated on the couch. Clumsily, I collapse against him, my body immediately thrust into the warmth. How anybody can feel so hot like this while it’s February and raining baffles me, but I can’t care too much.

I feel my face reddening.

From beneath me, Shizuo shifts into a more comfortable position for us both, neither one denying the sheer awkwardness of this situation.

I hate him.

He wants to end me.

We both know we shouldn’t be like this. We don’t _want_ to be like this. It’s embarrassing on top of utterly disturbing. However, a quiet understanding blankets the room in silence as I finally begin to absorb that soothing heat, slowly forgetting any of the sentiments I usually have for the blond.

As if we were made for each other, I sit quiet in his lap with my head on his shoulder, silently denying to myself how afraid I am that at any moment he would find no trouble snapping my neck in his large hands. Still, he’s strangely comfortable, making it just possible enough for this to be okay by some filthy twist of fate.

It’s not like he means anything to me. He’s just a temporary pawn. When I’m well again, I’ll feed him to the crocodiles, acting as if he has never done a thing for me, even when he is willingly becoming everything I need… if not for his own selfish reasons.

I’m doing my very best to pretend this isn’t Heiwajima Shizuo, and I can tell he’s doing his best to pretend he isn’t here right now, with his arms wrapped around me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback, new readers! This story is a pretty old work for me and I'm doing a terrible job transferring all of my fics from FF.net to AO3, but I'm really glad to see that this is new to some of you and that you're into it!
> 
> And how about that season 2 coming up? I'm so excited! I have a feeling I'll be writing a lot more shizaya soon! For now, please enjoy this next chapter!

Locked in silence, I know I don’t want to give up this comforting sensation flooding through my body. He’s so warm, like the sun actually sunk into his tanned skin and spread through every cell. It’s relaxing. Like laying in the grass on a mid-spring afternoon, perfectly entwined with nature and a glass of orange juice. Don’t ask why it makes me feel like this… it just does. Though, it is possible this sensation could be attributed to the light scent of citrus almost hidden by the smell of smoke on his bartender uniform.

Keeping my eyes closed, I inhale slowly, simply enjoying the break from my aching head. The relief is almost so good, so strong, that I’ve nearly forgotten that Shizuo is the one giving it to me.

I feel drowsy, almost enough that I could get in twelve hours of sleep if I wanted to. It’s tempting, but I deny it a while longer. I’m not ready to give this up.

“I have to pee,” he suddenly grumbles.

My eyes open, and I frown. Perfect timing, Shizuo.

“What?”

“I have to pee,” he repeats in a low tone, removing his arms from my torso.

“How long has it been?” I wonder.

This feels too soon…

“Two hours.”

Already?! And by the look in his own eyes he’s struggling to believe it himself. Now, he’s staring at me as if I had just taken a baseball bat to a puppy. In other words, reality is back, crashing down on the two of us. He’s had enough. And he won’t put up with anymore for today.

Glancing at the clock on the wall I see that it is already half past seven. Yeah… _already_.

In an attempt to make this less awkward that it definitely is, I slide off of him, quickly moving back to my previous position at the opposite end of the couch.

“Then I suppose that’s enough for today,” I announce what I know he‘s thinking, ignoring the pain that shoots through my chest at the idea of being separated from my precious warmth as it now, ever so slowly, evaporates.

“Yeah…” he mutters, scratching the back of his head.

He stands up, clearly feeling awkward. I can’t blame him. Neither of us ever saw this coming, as animosity still runs high between us. I guess we’ve both come to accept that as long as I’m sick, there’s no use in fighting. No thrill.

Truthfully, I’m curious as to what percentage of our two hours was spent contemplating how to kill me or if he should.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?” he asks, refusing to look me in the eye.

I can’t help but smirk. It’s just like us to make this whole thing seem so stupid when our pride won‘t let us fight. Then again, it is. We’re a pair of enemies, who have been at each other’s throats for nearly ten years. And he just asked if he could use my bathroom. Never mind the fact that I was just comfortable in his arms for two hours.

“Down the hall,” I instruct him. “First door on the left.”

Left alone in silence, I try to enjoy the painlessness while it lasts. In no way do I feel energized by his body heat, but I do feel relaxed. I feel… somewhat refreshed. The way I see it, I shouldn’t ask for too much. Even though I’m paying the brute, it’s still up to him whether or not he really goes through with this.

I can’t control Shizuo. Fact of life since day one. It’s that very lack of control that gives way to this mixture of hate and excitement, so I don’t try. And now that I’m paying him, I still won’t. As he stated, so insistently, I’m not his boss.

If anything, I am a client.

“So that’s it then?” he asks, emerging from the hallway.

Coming out of my thoughts, I glance over to him as he slowly makes his way to the door.

Nodding, I answer. “Until next time.”

“How do I know when that’ll be?”

“I have your number,” I answer simply, “I’ll call you when your service is needed.”

“And if I’m busy…?” he seems apprehensive; yet somewhat hopeful, that this will put a dent in our deal.

I realize he has a life of some sort, be it beating up the next person who pisses him off or smoking his lungs into a charred blackness. Still…

I pick up my phone from the coffee table and select a familiar name. Dialing, I press it against my ear, pleased when the ring does not mess with my head as it so often does. Shizuo is already proving himself useful to me.

“Hello?” a calm, disinterested voice answers after several rings.

I perk up, casting a devious look at Shizuo. “Tanaka Tom?” I say into the mouthpiece, “This is Orihara Izaya.”

The brute’s employer is stunned, albeit not so much as Shizuo as he steps toward me with a horrified scowl on his face. I realize that I’ve just pissed him off. Though, the anger is soon suppressed when I relay my situation to the debt collector. He seems understanding enough, especially when I explain the financial benefits this job will have on my enemy.

Shizuo is quick to back down.

“Anyway,” I sigh, finishing the phone call with proud ease, “It’s as I’ve said, I won’t need him every day, and the likelihood of needing him for more than a few hours is incredibly slim.”

“Well…” Tom pauses, thinking about what I’ve just told him. Not like it matters, though. I know what he’ll say.

“ _Well_ …?” I echo, as if I’ve just made some sort of high-end business proposal.

“Look, Orihara-san, as long as you stick to your word by paying him, I can’t say no. And no offense, I don’t like you one bit, but Shizuo is a good friend of mine. If you’re really willing to help him out like that, it’s his choice. Not mine..”

“My thoughts precisely!” I flash the blond a grin, responding to his boss. “And rest assured that I will be doing this. So if you could stop cutting his paychecks in half, we’ll all end up happy.”

The slightly older man is still skeptical; yet agreeable all the same.

I end the call with my eyes still glued to the blond, even as I feel my feigned smile vanish. “Problem solved. I‘ll begin paying you every Friday. How does fifty-thousand yen a week sound to you?”

“It sounds fine,” he says, turning towards the door. I’m not at all surprised as he briefly turns around, giving me a swift once-over with those pretty eyes. “But this doesn’t change anything between us, Flea. I still hate your fucking guts.”

Silently, I chuckle at the comment. “The feeling is mutual,” I say, amused.

With that, he leaves, and I disappear into my bedroom for the first full night of sleep I’ve had in months.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Shizuo has been here a total of four times so far - every other day to be exact. I’ve already paid him once.

Using him only for his body heat, the conversation continues to stay rather slim between us. Our negative feelings are still in their proper places - as they should be - refusing to eliminate any of the strangeness begotten by my form pressed against his.

He gets that I don’t want him for any other purposes, just as I know he only makes a conscious effort not to kill me for the payment he receives.

So when he’s sitting on my couch, with me in a daze as I lean against him, we don’t talk. We don’t even try to pretend that this is right; nor do we call attention to how wrong it is. Someday it will be over and, when that day comes, none of this will have ever occurred. Both of us will move on with our lives in the same fashion we always have, except - hopefully - he’ll aim for my head less often; or rather not at all.

This time, I’ve actually gone two days without Shizuo. Pleased when I found myself well enough to go for a walk in Shinjuku yesterday afternoon, I decided that humans can be quite medicinal to one another, even if you don’t like them… sort of how I feel chamomile tea. I don't like it one fucking bit, but the relaxation it has to offer is worth a few sips.

Of course, Shizuo isn’t what I would call human, and who actually enjoys taking medicine? Or drinking chamomile?

_Nobody_.

It’s feeling better that we’re after.

On the other hand, I’m a presumptuous idiot, impatiently getting ahead of myself more often than the recommended dosage. One might even say that after six months, I’m simply out of practice, which is a fair assumption to bestow.

Feeling good two days in a row was not grounds for ignoring my body’s need for rest. But the empowerment of that blond’s heat went straight to my head, only numbing it for a short period of time before the migraines decided to extract revenge.

You see… my short walk lead to a job… a job I wasn’t necessarily prepared for, making me wonder a myriad of things. Who was I to deny Shiki-san and miss out on five-hundred-thousand yen assignments? And it was so simple! Talk to a few guys, charm and frighten them, extract information, pick up package on the way back. Done.

Nothing difficult.

Shiki had been proud last night. So very proud. Maybe I let it go to my injured head, just a little, when I agreed to go back to work for him, doing jobs that my own part-time subordinates can’t handle. Then again, I hardly ever use them anymore. The whole of situation is becoming a bit desperate and fucked up… like I’m some sort of nobody struggling to make my way to the top, even though I know that it’s never been true of me…

I’ve always been somebody.

I’ve made damn sure of it.

And this time, I got carried away.  
  
For that, I feel like quite an idiot.  
  
I've had some pretty horrible days since these migraines began, as if the very life of me had been sucked dry from my body. Now, it feels like this yet again, only whoever drained me lit my body on fire. In almost twenty-four years of life, I've never felt like this.  
  
My body doesn't want to leave my bed, not even for those useless pills which mockingly sit on the dresser from across the room. Despite their uselessness, I want them as I force myself to believe that some relief is better than none.  
  
The world surrounding my glows with a familiar aura, maximized tenfold. It burns, attacking me with silent fury. My eyes water, but what's the use in wiping away the tears? For it will not wipe away this agony that shakes my body with its wrath.  
  
What little morning sun has managed to pierce the barriers of curtains and blinds is enough to blind me. Burying my head in my pillows, I hide.  
  
I know what I need.  


 

* * *

  
  
I need Shizuo's heat. More than anything. More than the past several times he has been here for me. And I would call him in an instant if I did not dread the painful light of my phone's screen, or the shrill ring as I call for him to save me from this hell. Albeit, even then, my sore limbs do not want to move, while the weight of the migraine keeps me pinned to the sheets, dizzy and suffering.  
  
An hour passes before I realize that this is getting worse rather than better. The pressure in my head soon reaches a point of nausea.  
  
I can't wait anymore.  
  
Keeping my face buried in my pillow, I reach a trembling arm out to my cell phone. Blindly picking it up, I hope I have a close enough relationship with this device to navigate it without seeing the screen’s details for myself.  
  
With a bit of effort, I hear the dial tone and can only hope it's the correct number.  
  
It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.  
  
"Hello~" that usual sing-song tone is shrill like the squeal of brakes on a beaten down car.  
  
"Fuck," I hiss.  
  
"Izaya... are you okay?" Shinra asks, lowering his voice into something a little more bearable.  
  
I swallow, attempting to clear my head enough to speak in words other than curses. "Ngh... I... I n-need Shizuo."  
  
"Whoa. You know he's not here, don't you?"  
  
"C-call him. Tell him to get over here..."  
  
"You sound like you're in a lot of pain. Are you-"  
  
"Thank you, Doctor Obvious. J-just tell him. Now."  
  
Irritated that I've called the wrong person, I hang up on Shinra with the hopes he has the mind to do what I say. Shizuo is the only one who can help, as shitty as it is to admit.

 

* * *

  
  
Roughly an hour later - hell, maybe it has only been twenty minutes, I don't know - I'm still in bed when there's a knock at the door; the sound of which is forceful enough to send an earthquake through my skull.  
  
I know who it is, but I don't know if I have the strength to pull myself up.  
  
Following another set of knocks, my phone rings. Just as blindly as I called Shinra, I manage to answer the call.  
  
"I'm at your apartment, Flea," Shizuo grumbles, "Shinra called me."  
  
The sound of his voice isn't as bad as Shinra's, yet still harsh enough to make me wince.  
  
"Oi, Izaya. You hear me?"  
  
"Ngh... yeah..." I am not surprised by the weakness in my voice as I force the answer.  
  
"Stop screwing around and come get the fucking door or I'm leaving," he threateningly commands, clearly irritated before even seeing my face. Then again, Shizuo has never required a visual to hate me.  
  
"N-no..." the throbbing is so loud I can hear it in my head. "I c-can't."  
  
"Well, unless you want me to break the damn door in to come save your puny ass, you better figure out a way."

I know he's right. And yet, the very idea of getting up seems impossible, like he's telling me to go to go to space on foot.  
  
"Your pain is too much... isn't it?" his voice suddenly drops to a melancholy, low town.  
  
"G-give me a minute," I breathe, suddenly remembering that Shizuo is not allowed to see me weak.  
  
"Don't force yourself. I can break in the door."  
  
"No..." I hiss, carefully lifting myself from my mattress. "I'll be there in a minute."

Said minute is the longest of my life.  
  
My migraine is giving me vertigo. Nauseating vertigo, like a bad night of drinking. Like somebody poisoned the alcohol to play a prank. This only leads to surprise when I make it down the stairs. By the time I reach the front door, I'm falling against it, simply trying to picture myself in those arms that fight off the onslaught of pain.  
  
"Soon," is the word I've repeated to myself for the past five minutes, up until I've unhooked the last latch from my door.  
  
"See?" I give Shizuo a weak smile as I open the door. "Fine."  
  
He scoffs. "You look like shit."  
  
Opening my mouth for a clever retort, whatever insult I was about to throw dissipates as another wave slams down on my head, shutting me up before I can speak.  
  
I crumble instantly, without warning to myself or the blond who has just stepped inside. The world sways, unrestrained by gravity in my broken mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahh!! Thank you for reading! I hope you guys are enjoying this. I know I've posted it everywhere, but it's nice to be trying to get all my fics in one solid place. A little difficult (and going slower than I thought), but definitely working out!
> 
> I hope you like snark and fluff combos, too. I know I sure do.

Shizuo kneels beside me.  
  
For a moment, I try to wave him off and say I'm okay. However, we both know that if that were true, I wouldn't have called him. I wouldn't need him at all.

With the palm of my left hand pressed against my forehead and my eyes clamped shut, I use the other to search for balance as I stand. I make the effort too quickly. A shiver runs through me.

Ignoring the blond's offered hand, I use the wall for support, dragging myself into the guest bathroom. As soon as I'm inside, my body gives in, demanding that I give up. My pride it isn't worth it.

In a matter of moments, I'm clinging to the bowl of the toilet in a crumpled mess, violently emptying my life force in a bitter mixture of bile and the undigested remnants of last night's dinner. When my body is depleted of this, I continue to heave, choking out everything I can. Vomiting only puts me in more pain. Head pounding, stomach in knots, muscles aching, all I can hope is that I die soon.

I want to be put out of my misery once and for all.

"Try to breathe," a soft voice brushes past my ear, scraping over my headache like thorns across flesh.  
  
Grimacing, I can honestly say that one of the worst effects of these migraines is the way even pleasant sounds can become sharp objects stabbing my senses. Because the way Shizuo tells me this, as he traces circles on my back, is so delicate that I nearly believe he cares.

Tch. Right… Get it together, Izaya. Let’s not become delusional as well.

Several more minutes pass in which my body is hell-bent on me throwing up my intestines before the power of his touch chases away the dry heaves. Feeling able to break away from the toilet, I fall back against the blond, filling my lungs with deep, ragged breaths to make up for the air my nausea robbed them of.

"Are you alright?" he asks sincerely, passing me a hand towel.  
  
I wipe my mouth and toss the thing to a miscellaneous corner of the bathroom. Closing my eyes, I nod, already succumbing to his body's contagious warmth.  
  
"Does that happen often?"  
  
"The puking?" I say, followed by a small cough that startles the brute. "Yeah. Sometimes."  
  
“Shit…” he whispers. “I’m so sorry…”

Rolling my eyes behind closed lids, I shift into a more comfortable position, giving me more access to his heat. “No use in beating yourself up over it now,” I explain, “Just make up for it.”

“Does it really count if you’re paying me?”

“Would you do it if I wasn’t?”

There’s a short, tense moment of silence before the blond breaks it with a shamed mumble. “No…”

“Didn't think so. Ah, well, nobody is perfect. Especially not a monster like you,” I say, balancing somewhere between insult and teasing.

He emits a low growl in retort.

“Now let’s be quiet, ne?” I add, attempting to focus on nothing but his warmth suffocating my pain.

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“We’re on the bathroom floor. Don’t you want to move somewhere comfortable or something?”

Unable to help myself, as I so often am, I release an amused snicker. Although I’m fairly surprised that Shizuo would make such a remark, he has blown me away with his unpredictability once more. His unforeseen methods, for once, are actually less than irritating as I lean against him.

“What’s the point?” I drone with a heavy heart.

His aid is only ever temporary. Comfort only lasts as long as his heat, and with an upset stomach, I’m unsure of when I’ll feel the need to purge again - even if my stomach is dry.

“You’d feel better, Flea,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and I‘m an idiot for not realizing it.

_Condescendingly_.

“Would I?” I choose to argue, wishing I could drape him over me like a blanket so that my whole body could be cocooned in his heat.

“It’s gotta be better to be in your bed than the cold floor.”

I smirk, distantly wondering what he means by that. “What do you care? You hate me.”

“Yeah, but I can’t kick your ass while you’re sick, so you need to get better.”

If I weren’t so tired, it’s likely that this comment would have me bursting at the seams in mad hysterics. He speaks in truths that have gone unspoken until now. Stating a simple fact as if my mind hadn’t raked over it time and time again, even in pain. And maybe that’s because I can only wish life could return to its normal pattern of dodging his attacks while I playfully run away, filled to the brim with exhilaration. Adrenaline burning through my system like oil charging a flame.

“In that case, get out. I’ll stay sick,” I reply, opening my eyes long enough to stare at him with as much deviousness as I can muster in my pathetic state.

“Like hell I’m leaving. I’m gonna fix you.”

“What makes you think you can?” I leer.

“Cause I’m the one who broke you.”

“What a bold statement to make, Shizu-chan. Accepting responsibility and all! Is it a promise?”

“Maybe.”

“And what should I expect in the case that you should fail me?”

“I dunno…” he says, crinkling his eyebrows. “What would you want?”

I shrug, mindlessly pulling his arm over my chest for more heat. “Hm… well, we both know your money is pocket change, and anything I can think of at the moment is nothing you’d be willing to do.”

“ _Like_ …?”

“Like throwing yourself off of Tokyo Tower Hotel.”

Feeling his silent grimace in the way he shudders at my words, I smirk again. But we both know he isn’t anything like the people Nakura talks to in the suicide chats. Come to think of it, I doubt he knows Nakura exists. Regardless, something about this idiot - something instinctual about his genetic makeup - makes him impossible to twist. There is no manipulating this one, so I know the only way he’s meeting his death in such a clichéd, suicidal manner is if I push him myself.

“Who knows? Maybe you’re inhuman genetics will save you. We’ll call it an experiment. Even make a documentary out of the ordeal!”

“You’re a sick louse,” he grumbles, tightening his hold for reasons I cannot comprehend.

Heart slamming desperately against my rib cage, I’m suddenly over-thinking his touch, a touch I cannot get out of. What does he think he’s doing?!

Why?!

And can he feel the pounding of my heart?

Trapped like this, he could crush me in an instant! Before I’d even know it, I could be dead!

Concealing my panic as the grin slides from my face, I close my eyes. Seeking nonchalance in desperate times, I turn away to hide my face.

Telling myself I don’t care; since I’m using him as it is, I pretend the only piece of him that is here is his warmth. My anti-venom to his poisonous bite. I can only be pleased with the fact that he has not asked for an explanation or pushed the subject further.

Then again, as long as we’re stuck like this, it’s never too late for that.

After our banter back and forth, reminding each other that we’re only being so civil to obtain something we need, a smooth silence fills the air, keeping up with the same level of tension as in the last several times he has been here.

I clear my head.

Shizuo pretends he’s somewhere else.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How are you feeling?”

My guess is that we’ve been like this for a while, just like before, but with my mind too numb, I can’t tell just how long “a while” truly is. I’m beginning to believe these migraines have stolen my sense of time.

“Izaya…?”

“What?” I grumble in a short breath.

“How are you?” he reiterates his former concern - if one could call it that.

Trying not to consider the fleeting pain floating around in my skull for fear of empowering it once again, I make the foolish move of digging my fingers into the protozoan’s shirt; clinging to the fabric as hard as my weak hands will grasp it.

It’s not Shizuo I don’t want to be separated from. It’s his body. My cure.

Though, I’m not so sure he understands that as he jolts in response to this slightly desperate move of mine. For both our sakes, I choose not to respond to his moment of shocked discomfort. I’m surprising myself too. I don’t like it.

“I’m not ready for you to leave yet,” I grumble, losing control over my mouth.

“I-I’m not,” he assures me, shaking off his own surprise that I actually said the words I hope I didn’t. “I just don’t think that staying on the floor will help you…”

“Ne, Shizu-chan…” taking the sly way out, I don’t argue or agree. I change the subject. “What time is it…?”

“Still early… not even ten.”

“Ngh… seriously?”

“I’m telling you, Izaya, you should really go back to bed…”

“Nonsense,” I play stubborn, shifting a bit for more comfort. “It’s barely the start of a new day. There are things to be done.”

“And I was woken up three hours ago to a frantic Shinra telling me to get here. And I‘m glad I did.”

“Huh…? What the hell are you insinuating, Shizu-chan?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, and I can sense his frown reaching up to his eyes; burning holes in the top of my throbbing head. “You just puked your guts out. I‘m not sure that‘s a good thing.”

“Tch. As if any part of this is?”

“Quit twisting my words,” he shoots, suddenly defensive. “You’re _really_ sick.”

Irritated by his blasphemous opinion, I pull away from his warmth, though not without reluctance, and stare at him down with scrutinizing eyes that have him shifting uncomfortably before me. I know exactly what he‘s getting at. That doesn‘t mean he‘s right. “Twisting? I’m not twisting anything. I’m stating facts. If you think I have some hidden motive, I‘m sorry to let you down. I can only wish it was that easy.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t always have hidden motives,” he growls back a demanding retort.

A shudder tears down my spine.

“You really are terrible at reading people, Shizu-chan.”

“People,” he huffs, “Not fleas.”

“You’re just sinking yourself further down into hypocrisy, you know. I bet you sit here wondering how you can kill me fast and easy.”

There. I said it.

“W-what?!” he gawks.

Leaning against the bathtub, I do my best not to show him that I’m still in desperate need of his heat, and hide my shaking hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “Don’t act so innocent, Shizu-chan,” I snicker, amused by the dumfounded look on his stupid face.

His incredulous gaze drops to the floor. Nervously, I watch him slowly stand up, towering over me with his melancholy eyes shamefully averted.

“That’s not true…” he whispers, clenching his fists as if to suffocate the desperate rage building inside of him. “I don’t _really_ wanna kill anyone. Not even you.”

“Right, and I don’t really have migraines that have me hanging over a toilet bowl three times a week,” I sneer, purposely testing Shizuo’s limits.

“To be honest? I didn’t believe it at first,” he snorts.

I keep my eyes trained on him. “So I’ve noticed.”

“And why should I? But that’s why you have to believe me, Izaya… It’s the same thing…”

“Hardly. When have I tried to kill you?”

He shakes his head. “Oh, don’t act like you haven’t made my life hell since day one, Flea!”

Slowly, I raise my hands in defeat. I never said I was innocent. I just like to play with fire. “Damn. Caught me.”

“I’m being completely serious. I might hate your fucking guts, but I don’t wanna kill you, and I don’t wanna be violent either. Not towards you or the douche bags who piss me off!”

“So…” I push my interrogation forward, “You haven’t once thought about snapping my neck while I’m weak and defenseless?”

He brings his eyes back to mine. Somehow, I manage to hide the stun that shoots through me when he looks at me like that. I see more pain than anger. I see somebody who truly does not want to be… this monster…

“No…” he frowns, “I… I know I shouldn’t… but I actually feel bad for hurting you like this. I might wanna beat your obnoxious ass, but I’ve done something to you that isn’t just gonna go away.”

Sighing, I nod in slight agreement. “It’s true, Shizu-chan. My head won’t heal like the usual cut or bruise you leave me with…”

His shoulders slump. “I lied before… I’d do this for you even if you weren’t paying me…”

“Why?”

“Because…” he grits his teeth, “I just would.”

“So if you don’t want to kill anyone, explain why you try so hard to end me?”

Shizuo closes the toilet’s lid and takes a seat, carefully mulling over our situation in his head. With his elbows on his knees, he hunches over, running his hands through his blond hair to alleviate his stress. I can tell he’s in need of a nicotine fix, but I say nothing about it. Neither of us make cigarettes an issue.

“When it comes to you I just can’t control myself… and now that you‘re hurt, even though you‘re still annoying as hell, I dunno… it makes sense in my head, but the words don’t sound right.”

“I understand.”

“How…? You don’t-”

“Shut up. I just do.”

“I really am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologizes.

I don’t tell him that his words mean nothing to me. I don’t say that I’ll forgive him when his warmth eliminates my pain for good. To speak the words… let’s just say I may as well give up entirely and accept that I might be stuck like this. Useless and in pain until my last breath.

With a forced effort, I push myself up from the floor, swaying dizzily as the blood in my head rushes out; into the rest of my limbs. Along with it, whatever remains of Shizuo’s heat disappears too, giving me a cold, lonely feeling. I keep my arms tightly folded against my chest.

“You work today, ne?” I wonder.

“Yeah…”

“You should go then. I’ve kept you far too long.”

He stares at me curiously. “You’re still hurting…”

“I’ll manage. You’ve helped me enough for now,” I try to assure him, though I can see he doesn’t believe it. He’d like to, but he doesn’t. So I add, “I have some things I need to think about. It’s best that I be alone for now.”

“Can I come back?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

This sudden question startles me. I wonder if he could see the blood jump in my veins as the words roll off his tongue. “You still work for me, idiot,” I attempt to be smooth with my words by keeping them cold and calloused, but hell. I can hear the shaking in my voice. I feel it reverberating off of the walls in my throat.

If he notices, he ignores it, quickly jumping to explain his rationale. “I know… I mean when I get off work…”

“Why in the world would you want to do that?” I scoff and mockingly as I can, hoping to change his mind.

Shrugging, he answers with, “I dunno.”

Why am I not affecting him like I usually do?

“I am not sure if that’s the best idea,” I shake my head, barely able to understand what I’m saying, or why I’m saying it. “I’ll call you when you’re needed. That‘s our deal.”

Seemingly disappointed, he nods in understanding; realizing that I’m not likely to budge from my opinion. He knows I don’t have to let him be here. He knows that he’s here by my accord, and that he has to leave by it just the same.

I’m not his boss.

But Shizuo is still _my_ employee.

Though, I can’t say I understand why he would want to be here. It isn’t as if I’d pay him more for something voluntary. Then again, I’m also struggling to understand why he would do this without proper payment. I can’t figure out why he’d come back by his own free will… To come back to somebody he hates, guilty or not, doesn’t feel right by any means.

Or maybe it’s possible that he just felt the same terrifying wave of change that has just pulled me under rapid currents.

None of this makes any sense to me. At all.

It feels like drowning.

“Are you sure you’re okay for me to leave?” he checks one last time as I show him to the door.

“I’m fine,” I insist with an edge, practically shoving him out of my apartment. “I’m just going to lie down for a while. I’ll see you next time.”

“Good,” he nods once, “You should do that.”

A formal goodbye goes unsaid as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, grabbing one between his lips. I grimace at myself for focusing on the image. I won’t try to describe the feelings rushing through me at the sight. It’s all so fucking wrong. It makes me sick to even consider it a possibility.

Once the door is locked, I lean against it, pressing my forehead against the strong wood.

There’s a new pain weighing me down now: stress. The constant rush of uncertainty precariously balanced on my mind; toying with my fragile brain.

I am afraid. Of what, I do not yet know. And a large part of me doesn’t want to find out.

“This doesn’t change anything, Shizu-chan,” I say to the figure that is no longer in my presence; yet just as irritating as if he were. “I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but I still hate you.”

It’s just as well that I hate the tiny voice in the back of my mind that says I’m lying.

What has he done to me?

 

* * *

 

For three and a half days, I don’t call Shizuo. I don’t see him. I don’t feel him.

And yet he refuses to leave my mind as I fought my needs, denying his heat, to show that I could manage without him.

Sometimes, it’s a terrible thing to be so stubborn, even against one’s self. Until now, I simply wanted to believe I was in it to make a point, even going as far as to pay the blond bastard despite his lacking services. Instead, he was giving me plenty to think about… plenty to try to remove from my thoughts which are hazy and jumbled in my state.

Yesterday was another round of hell. I wanted to call him. My entire body was screaming at me to summon him, only to be shot down by the selfish desperation of my dwindling pride.

I foolishly allowed the migraine win for my dignity's sake.

However…

Currently, I’m not so sure of what I am doing.

My physical agony is reasonably lesser than it has been over the past few days. For how long, who is to say? Still, I remain confident that I don’t need him right now. I’m doing fine.

So why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why do I keep envisioning those golden eyes each time I close mine? It’s as if the image is furiously burned there as a reminder of something I haven’t even figured out yet. And why did he look that way?

Why did Shizuo stare at me as if his world had been shattered?

I hate him.

I hate him, and he hates me. That is the natural order.

That is what keeps the earth spinning on its fucking axis.

So why…?

I know I’m being a little crazy here. On top of that, I’m running low on pills after having overdosed on a safe number of them these past few days.

Whatever helps me sleep at night, ne?

Ugh… I…

Not knowing what else to do drives me up the fucking wall, because at the exact same time, I’m brushed with the strong desire to actually do what I dread.

Picking up my cell phone from my nightstand, I try not to let the backlight get the better of me while I scroll through to his name, just thankful he hasn’t called.

Today is just a phone call. A conversation. Nothing more with the possibility of being less; meaning he certainly does not need to come over. My useless, electric blanket can subtly take his place without retort.

This decided, what’s the point in calling him at all? What am I trying to do exactly?

Well, it doesn’t matter. He isn’t coming over.

“H-hello?” a deep voice suddenly captures the attention that he has, quite honestly, held for the past several days.

“Shizu-chan… hi…” I say all too shyly, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

“What the hell, Izaya?!” he suddenly sounds much more awake. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds until two in the morning,” I answer, staring at the digital clock beside by bed.

"God..." he groans, unsatisfied with obviously having been woken. “Seriously, Flea…?”

Believe it or not, the decision to call him like this - albeit in the middle of the night - is not so impulsive as it may appear. I've been juggling the thought since he left, mostly hesitating based upon an uncertainty of just what to say to the brute after such an awkward departure. It also seems a bit unprofessional on my end if an employee doesn't have any clue as to when he will be needed next.

So it might seem random, and I may be fighting to hide how flustered I truly am, but I've thought almost endlessly about this call.

I still don't know what to say.

"Uh... Look... Let me get dressed. I'll be there in an hour," Shizuo reluctantly sighs.  
  
I can just imagine the look on his stupid face. Sleepy-eyed with a clenched jaw, exasperated, but understanding of our peculiar situation.

Only, this time, he's wrong. This isn’t what he thinks.

"Actually... that isn't why I called," I quickly admit.

A brief moment of silence is broken by a click and an exhale on the other end. He's getting his nicotine fix; probably just trying to keep his anger down.

"So... you don't need me to come over?" he checks warily.

"No."

"Then why the hell are you calling me, Flea?"

Curiosity has laces his ire.

"I couldn't sleep," the words are easier to confess than I had originally anticipated, taking a huge weight off my chest already. "I can't stop thinking."  
  
"About...?"  
  
"Why do you hate me so much, Shizu-chan?"  
  
"WHAT?! What the hell kinda question is that?!" he shoots, losing his cool to incredulity. "You damn well know why! Why do you hate me?!"

I must say... I am somewhat proud of myself for predicting the unpredictable. This is exactly the reaction I expected, though I do not know if it's the one I was hoping for. Still, to be fair, I answer.  
  
"You know why as well. It's because you're simply not human enough to love. Too flawed to be valued. A thorn in my side."  
  
"Don't act like I chose this life for myself," he warns me. "I hate you for making it worse than it already is."  
  
"Maybe that's the reason now, sure," I agree, something unfamiliar hitting me as that last sentence reverberates in my skull. "But have you ever wondered what got us started? We have these stupid reasons. Reasons that came into creation when we were fifteen. Now that we've reached adulthood, those reasons have become nothing more than immature excuses."  
  
"What are you getting at?"  
  
"I hate you. Don't get me wrong. I really despise you," I am sure to rub it in as hard as I can. "But _why_? I feel like there's something else there. Something that lies deeper beneath the surface. I want to know what it is. Or maybe my head is more screwed up than usual..."  
  
"How bad is your pain right now?"  
  
"Intermediate."  
  
"How many pills have you taken tonight?"  
  
"Seven. Possibly eight," I say, trying to count them in my memory. "What does this have to do with hating each other?"  
  
"Izaya, are you fucking high?"

His words startle me. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I glare at it for a moment, wishing he could see how he has offended me. "What makes you think that?!"

"You're asking me some pretty weird, philosophical shit."

"Has Shizu-chan ever even been high?!"

"No," he says dryly, "But I've been in and out of jail enough times to know what it looks like - thanks to you."

"Being heavily medicated for chronic pain doesn't make me a junky, idiot," I snap.

"I never called you a junky, Izaya. You don't think eight painkillers might be a few too many?"

"I am _not_ high. And I mean every word I've said to you thus far."

"You're putting words in my mouth again," he grumbles.

"Listen," I sigh, giving up on a conversation that began with no sure direction, let alone an organized topic, "It's just a thought that's been bugging me. You seemed like the most logical person to discuss it with, even if your own sense of reasoning sucks."  
  
He grunts. " _Thanks_."  
  
"Any time," I scoff.  
  
"So if you’re done rambling, I'm gonna go back to sleep."  
  
"Yeah... sorry to wake you..."

“I don’t know what you were expecting at two in the morning.”  
  
I hang up without waiting for his goodbye, still feeling incredibly unsatisfied by our conversation. It is as if all of the thoughts I had vanished, leaving nothing but a stain on my mind. Whatever the source is has faded, while the feelings equipped remain.  
  
If anything, I feel like I have to put this ten-thousand piece puzzle together all over again. With a time limit.  
  
Nothing makes sense. Nothing - not even this headache - feels like it should.  
  
I know I hate Heiwajima Shizuo. But my reasons aren't good enough.  


 

* * *

  
  
"What are you doing here?" I glare at Namie from my place on the couch as she hangs her coat and purse on the rack by the door.  
  
"I came to check on you," she says. "As much as I enjoy being paid for the simple fact of being your employee, there will soon come a day when you're out of the proper funds."  
  
"Then I'll stop paying you," I easily smirk.  
  
"Very funny," she drones. "When do you expect to be well enough to at least pick up on managing your business?"  
  
"Did you have to lie?" I shamelessly change the topic.  
  
"Lie?" my assistant echoes.  
  
Narrowing my gaze, I enjoy the way she shivers as my eyes meet hers. "You're not here to check on me. You're here about money."  
  
"You _are_ my money. I'm just wondering when I'll have to join Kishitani in underground practices at the rate my current employer is going - which is nothing but downhill, mind you."  
  
"Something tells me Shinra would be opposed to the competition," I chuckle with a snide inflection simply meant to bother her. I'm pleased to find it effective.  
  
"I'm sure I could clean a bullet wound better than he can," she says with artificial pride.  
  
"Stop worrying so much, Namie-chan," I advise her, "You're one of two who I haven't let go. And by the time this is over, you're likely to be the only one."  
  
Her interest is immediately sparked. "Who's the other?"  
  
"Don't worry about it," I say.  
  
Knowing that I'm not going to tell her that I've hired Shizuo, she drops the matter, gracefully moving into the next. "Hmm... so where are you accumulating the funds to pay for us?"

"Don't make yourself sound like some kind of prostitute," I tease, earning a sharp glare on her end. "I've agreed to keep working for the Awakusu-Kai when I can."

"Is Shiki-san still paying you well?"

"He's paying for the best."

"And he's aware of your health?"

Sitting up, I stare at her questioningly, wondering why she needs to know something like this. I can only imagine that her true concern is for money when it isn't focused on that creepy brother of hers.

"I'm missing the part where that's an important detail to our business relationship," I roll my eyes. "My frequent clients know that I've been away from work for medical issues. They don't need to know more than that. In the meantime, I'm doing enough small jobs to keep you paid and out of the way."  
  
Ha!  
  
She's so pretty when she's offended. Nevertheless, behind those chocolaty eyes, there's some sort of plot. This woman is just crazy enough for every move she makes to have an individual hidden motive.

And Shizuo thinks _I'm_ the suspicious one.

"Now, if you're satisfied, you can leave," I wave toward the door, wishing to be alone with the slight pain that is teasing my head.

It hasn't erupted into a migraine yet, but I don't want Namie to be here when it does. She always makes them so much worse.  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi.  
> i'm really sleepy.  
> i've been working a lot... and finals... weh.

Later, long after Namie's departure, I call Shizuo, accepting that sometimes the agony is just too much. Sometimes, It's better to give in. He does not hesitate to come over.

"You haven't needed me in a week," he says with slow caution. "Have you been okay...?"

"I've been working a little," I tell him quietly, thinking about Shiki-san.

What minor tasks I’ve done - all of them over the phone or internet - have been nothing short of relieving, despite the cravings for more. My work has always kept me happy, making it more painful to be away from it for so long. Interaction is rare; often suffocated by pain.

I miss the streets. Staying indoors so often is like going through a bad withdrawal; not to mention very lonely. Lately, I feel like a rat in a cage.

"That's good."

“Ne?”

“Good that you’ve been able to work, I mean.”

“Ah… yes. A little.”

Feeling sleepy, I rearrange myself, resting my sore head on Shizuo’s lap. He makes no retort in my doing so, allowing me to absorb him in whatever way I deem necessary.

From where I lay, I try my best to keep my eyes focused on the city lights outside of my window, as they are the closest things I’ve seen to stars in what is probably weeks. For now, I’m just thankful that I can have the blinds open without wanting to rip out my eyeballs.

“Sneaky shit or what?” the blond asks, looking for a conversation.

I’m not sure why he wants to talk to me. Maybe it’s because it gets boring sitting through a few hours of life in silence. Whatever the reasoning, I choose to entertain him a little.

“Nothing you would enjoy, or deem appropriate.”

“ _Like_ …?”

For reasons I cannot interpret, I smile slightly. “Why are you so curious, Shizu-chan?”

“I don’t know… I… I’ve just been thinking about what you said to me the other night.”

“About why we hate each other?”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re trying to answer the question, is that right?”

“Something like that…”

A cynical snicker escapes me, soon to be cut off as I feel his body tense. Can I really blame him? Shizuo is making much more of an effort than I am - than I ever will. “Shiki-san, my employer, is an executive for Awakusu-Kai. He’s yakuza.”

“Yeah. Figured you were into that shit.”

“Heh. They pay exuberant amounts of money for such little things, even for information that a brute like you would know. Shiki-san is different.”

“All yakuza are exactly the same,” Shizuo says, clenching his teeth.

“How so?”

“Violent.”

My smile widens. “You’ be surprised. While they do have their fair share of violence, as well as murder, that’s not the case. Shiki-san is one of the must nonviolent humans I’ve ever met. He‘s more into smuggling exotic goods.”

“Like drugs?”

“Pfft,” I scoff, rolling my eyes, “If you must know the answer to that, no. He strongly opposes them. It’s useless to explain the underworld to somebody who has never really seen it.”

“Oh…” he relaxes a bit. “Is it scary…?”

Breathing in deeply, I relax with him. “No. It’s exhilarating.”

“You’re a confusing flea, you know that?”

“No more than you are a raging protozoan, but then, I suppose it’s simply a matter of opinion, ne?”

“Sure,” Shizuo sighs.

My eyes drape closed against my will. Heavy lids are in control of this situation now, as I’m beginning to fully relax against him. It has taken a while, but the pain is finally beginning to fade out thanks to this man I despise for reasons unknown.

And it’s that same hate that has my breath caught in my throat, when his hand finds its way to my hair. I swallow my nervousness, opening my eyes to be on my highest alert, wondering if this is the part where he crushes my skull. I am all the more surprised when, rather than ending me, he begins to gently rake his fingers across the side of my head.

The sensation is new; yet so familiar. Something akin to my mother’s loving touch when I was a child. It sends the most comfortable sparks through my body; placing a sensation in my chest that hasn’t been dormant for at least fifteen years.

I have to wonder…

How is it that I can enjoy something from someone I hate so much?

* * *

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Shizuo three hours later as I sit up.

I had been half asleep for the past two. Then the brute’s phone rang, startling out of my trance.

Kasuka had called, undoubtedly asking a myriad of yes-or-no questions as Shizuo answered them, one after the other, almost robotically; only breaking the pattern towards the end when he explained to the young actor that everything was fine and that he was excited to see him next week.

For those five minutes, Shizuo’s ministrations through my hair were put on pause, only to be picked back up as soon as he ended his call.

I was half tempted to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to take personal calls while working before remembering how insistent he is that I am not his boss.

I’ve spent the next fifty-five minutes since then allowing the continuation of his fingers‘ work, all the while wondering what in the world he’s doing to me; making me feel sentiments which I have buried for a reason, and others that I do not know how to describe.

Because affection is only a nuisance to be on the receiving end of. A roadblock preventing the equal share of love for my humans. My pawns.

“Do what?” he asks, legitimately clueless.

He never over thinks anything, does he?

I sigh. “Touch me like that. It was unnecessary.”

He smirks as realization dawns on him, clandestine and proud. “But it helped, didn’t it?”

Narrowing my eyes, I look him up and down, hoping that he knows I think he’s dirt on the bottom of my shoe. “So what if it did?”

Standing up, he heads toward the door before responding. After sliding his shoes on, he turns back to look at me. “Kasuka used to get sick a lot when we were kids. I figured if it worked on him, it’d work on you.”

“I’m not a little boy, Shizu-chan,” I sneer, crossing my arms.

“No, you’re a pain in the ass, Izaya.”

“Likewise.”

He checks his cell phone.

“Well, it’s late now…” Shizuo says without keeping up the argument. He already has a cigarette between his fingers, ready to light as soon as he’s out the door. “I’m off work tomorrow if you need me.”

Staring at him for a long while, I do everything in my power to read him. Those golden eyes flash as if speaking to me in a language I don’t know. Sending me a message that should be obvious if we were not such opposites. I want to know exactly what he’s thinking and pick it apart, just as I do with everybody else. I want to know what enticed him to touch me like that and why my bite gets to him less and less each time he’s here.

I want to know everything I can about Heiwajima Shizuo, because it has come to my attention that I do not know nearly enough. The mental file I keep on him is not nearly as full as I thought it was. I'm starting to realize how empty I've left it these past ten years.

“Yeah… Okay…” I say after a while, noticing that I have him curious.

“You okay, Flea?” he asks. “I can stay if you need me.”

There’s that question again…

“Uhm… yeah. I’m fine. You can go.”

“Are you sure?” he presses, sensing that something is indeed wrong, but so far away from ever understanding what it is.

“Yes, Shizu-chan,” I insist, riddled by a sense of familiarity in his prodding.

Hesitant, it’s obvious that he isn’t buying it at all. He doesn’t believe my excuses. He does not know my sentiments. They shouldn’t mean a thing to him… yet, he never leaves without asking.

“Goodnight, then… I’ll see you soon?”

I turn away before he is fully out the door. “Yes. Until next time…”

In a matter of seconds he is gone, leaving me alone once more. And though I am no longer in pain, I can’t help this unsettled feeling in my chest. Irritating as it is, there is no pain. All I know is that I don’t want it.

I’ve been ill with these migraines for way too long and I hate that his medicinal purposes have side-effects that I cannot comprehend.

Even when Shizuo is standing right in front of me, there’s something entirely enigmatic about him. The feelings I get when he’s close to me are almost unreal. And when he’s touching me? I don’t know if it was helping me, or sending me further into the depths of insanity.

This is torture.

I feel like some sort of addict.

 

 

 

* * *

 

I don’t need him today.

Last night, I had him for more than five hours.

Today, there is no sign of pain whatsoever, giving me a much needed break away from choking down pills and dreading opening my eyes. Today, my blinds are open, and I can see the world beyond my window without affliction. Today is good.

Today, I should be out on the streets, living life by my rules. Having fun.

So what the hell am I doing right now as I stare out the window with my phone pressed to my ear?

What kind of fool am I?

“H-hello…? Shit!” he answers with a growl that I can tell is not my doing.

“Everything alright, Shizu-chan?” I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I hear another string of curses before he resets his attention on me.

“Huh…? Oh. Sorry - yeah. Just dropped some eggs…”

“Eggs…? Do you… cook?” I wonder, allowing genuine curiosity to get the better of me.

Could we be so similar?

“Pfft,” he scoffs, “Well… I can do breakfast. And rice and- _shit_.”

“Shit?” I echo with a smirk.

“Shut up. You need me to come over?”

Of course not.

In this severely rare moment, I can’t help but laugh, not only at his words but at the entire prospect of the situation. He’s speaking to me so casually, as if we’re not enemies at all, but rather new acquaintances, unaware of the other‘s flaws.

Quite honestly, if I weren’t so amused, this would terrify me.

“Would you mind?” I ask with caution, wondering if he’ll catch me in this lie.

“Uh… no. Give me a little while. I have to put groceries away.”

“You mean you can afford them?” I snicker, testing him.

“I can now… thanks to you.”

The words feel like a punch in the chest. When I cannot come up with a proper response, I bring the conversation to a close. “Ah… well… do what you must.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks instead of letting me go.

I wonder if he even realizes he’s asking me this. Hearing it so often is like listening to the same annoying song over and over again with nothing else to switch it to. It’s like that _one_ , really annoying Lady Gaga song that plays over and over on the radio. It makes you sick to your stomach to hear it, and even when it’s gone it doesn’t leave your head.

Of course, if there’s one thing in this world I detest more than Heiwajima Shizuo, it’s women dressed as meat.

The point I’m trying to make here is that he always asks me if I’m okay. He genuinely wants to know how I’m feeling, and puts equal effort into fixing it however he can. Whether he hates me or not, Shizuo is determined to be my cure.

Feeling suddenly daring, I test the limits further, eager to know just how much it will take for him to draw the undeniable line. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a small voice is screaming at me to knock it off; warning me that this is all too risky. Had I any intention to listen, maybe it would be just a little bit louder.

“Actually, I feel fine.”

“Y-you what, Flea…?” he almost sounds like he’s choking.

“I feel fine.”

“Then why do you need me to come over…?” he asks with a suspicious inflection in his strong voice.

“Ne… You offered, Shizu-chan. The choice is yours.”

“Are you… asking me if I _want_ to come over?”

The way he attempts to piece this all together makes me smile. He’s so fucking confused. But to me, it feels like a small victory. Some sort of win to make up for a small percentage of all of this madness flitting back and forth between us.

“I’m saying you have a choice. I want your heat, Shizu-chan. However, if you have other plans on your day off, then by all means, say no.”

A long silence passes between us. I can hear Shizuo shuffling around on the other end, giving me no doubt that he has gotten a start on putting his groceries away while he contemplates his next move. He’s being careful. I don’t blame him.

“Actually… I was sort of waiting for your call…”

 

* * *

 

Roughly two hours later, I’m back in Shizuo’s lap with his fingers in my hair. While he watches nature a documentary on television, I keep my eyes closed, absorbing him with the sheer joy that I can.

I’m beginning to realize that if there’s anything I’m truly addicted to, it’s this.

I haven’t felt this good thus far. And even though it seems a little fucked up that I would have him come over like this, I can’t say I regret it. Screw the natural order. I want this. I want to be able to live my life in such a way that I don’t need his warmth as a cure, but as a -

“Hey… Flea…?” his voice quietly cracks the silence between us, interrupting my thoughts.

“Ne…?” I respond slowly, thankful that he hasn’t stopped his ministrations.

“Are you awake?”

“I’m responding.”

“Heh… right…”

Rolling onto my back, I momentarily break the touch, thinking it’s over until his hand comes back down, and his fingers begin working their way through my bangs. With half-lidded eyes, I look at him staring at me, immediately noticing how calm and content he appears. As if the world is as it should be.

Is it? I really don’t know. Probably not at the rate we’re going.

“Is something wrong, Shizu-chan?” I ask, trying to translate the look in his eyes.

“Uhm… no…” his eyebrows crinkle, “I was just wondering…”

“Yes…?”

“Y-you’re not hungry, are you?”

For some stupid reason, I smile nervously. “Famished, actually…”

He averts his eyes from mine as a soft pink hue adds an innocent glow to his cheeks. “You wanna go get something to eat?”

“What? Like the two of us?”

The rosy coloration deepens, making me insanely curious. “Well… I… uh… I…” he stutters, failing to come off as calm as I can see he’d like to.

Who would have known that a raging brute like Heiwajima Shizuo had it in him to get flustered asking such a trivial question. It isn’t as if the man is on one knee, asking for my hand in marriage. Now that’d be something else altogether. Something that is _never_ going to happen.

Standing up, I smooth out my shirt and jeans before turning off the television. “Come on,” I tell him, “There are a few places around here.”

Shizuo stays seated on the couch, staring at me with wide honey eyes as I fetch my cell phone and coat. When I raise a questioning brow his way, the blond shifts nervously in his seat. Hesitating.

“What are you waiting for, Shizu-chan?” I ask, “Let’s go.”

“You…”

“You’re worried about somebody seeing us together and thinking it’s weird?” I guess.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he nods silently.

“I’m hungry, Shizu-chan,” I tell him honestly, “I don’t really care what anyone thinks. Even if I did, this is Shinjuku. Not Ikebukuro. So unless you plan on murdering me once outside the confines of my loft, I really have nothing to worry about. However, if you‘d rather stay here, I will happily go without you.”

Keeping my eyes locked on him, I wonder if this is a terrible idea. Nothing about it feels right. Then again, nothing feels wrong either.

Would I care even if we were in Ikebukuro? Or am I simply so lost in his radiant heat that none if it matters, no matter what world we’ve been cursed to live in?

“No…” he shakes his head in frustration. “I’m coming.”

“Are you sure, Shizu-chan? Nobody is forcing you.”

“I said I’m coming!” he growls, following me out the door, “Wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t hungry too…”

“Oh, so this is a matter of selfishness,” I slyly tease.

“No!” he insists, still a meter or so behind me as I make my way down the stairs. “Why do you always do that, Flea?”

“Do what?” I grin.

“Make it sound like I’m saying things that I’m not really saying.”

And then I laugh. “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s the way you say them?”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been forgetting to update. i'm really good at forgetting to update old stories. OTL
> 
> thank you so much for your kidness and support! i hope you continue to enjoy this story!

Long after I’m done picking on the brute, Shizuo is still pouting as he follows me through the streets of Shinjuku. Without pain to stand in my way, I’m feeling a bit playful - _adventurous_ \- as I skip ahead every now and then, wondering how easy it would be to lose him; knowing just how amusing it would be to ditch him in the middle of this city. I can already picture the angry scowl on his face, long after I’ve returned to my loft.

But for some reason, I choose not to. Instead, I stop and wait when I feel like I’ve gotten too far.

“Come on, Shizu-chan. Use those long legs to keep up.”

“Maybe I would if you weren’t bouncing around like a psychopath,” he grumbles, following it up with a few minor curses.

“I’m trying to keep my blood flowing,” I make up the most logical excuse, walking backwards to face him while we carry out this conversation, “It’s cold out here. I need to stay warm.”

Shizuo looks me up and down. “How are you even cold, Flea? That jacket is huge. What‘s with you and fur, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Call it an affinity,” I shrug, pulling the soft, fur-lined hood over my head, “How do you manage to wear the same stupid bartender outfit every day, no matter the time of year? Including your day off?”

“It isn’t stupid,” he snaps. “And I don’t wear the same outfit every day, either.”

“No?”

“No, you wiseass. I have different styles. Different colors too.”

“They all look the same to me.”

“Shut up. You’re colorblind.”

Amongst all the madness we’ve been through over the past several weeks, it’s nice to feel some semblance of normalcy when his tone becomes a little threatening. It makes me hope that maybe the world isn’t turning inside out after all. The strange interaction between us has simply been the result of staying indoors with migraines for much too long.

“Where are we even going?” he asks grumpily, puffing on a freshly lit cigarette.

“Hm. What sounds good?”

“ _Food_ ,” he states dryly, making sure I know he’s upset with me.

“Well, yes. Generally, when a person is hungry, food is what they eat. Then again, Shizu-chan isn’t exactly a person, is he?”

He rolls his eyes behind periwinkle shades, noticing that I’m more snarky than usual without questioning why. But if there has to be a reason - if Shizuo were to ask - well… I don’t know if I’d answer him truthfully.

Why should I tell him that I don’t like being so comfortable with him? What reason do I have to explain to the blond that the longer I’m with him, the stronger unfamiliar feelings become? Being out on these streets makes it far less terrifying, putting us at a safe distance before I forget that he is my enemy through and through.

Hiring him for a job that only he can do does not change anything. I think we both need to be reminded of that.

“There’s a place just another street down,” I tell him, after another of our usual long silences passes between us. “Just a hole in the wall, really. Quaint, but quiet.”

“Oh…?”

“Do you like yakitori, Shizu-chan?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I don’t. Not unless it’s from this place.”

“You a picky eater or something?” he asks.

I slow my pace until we’re walking side by side, deciding not to get ahead of him anymore if we’re going to continue a conversation.

So far, Shizuo hasn’t asked me anything too overtly personal; yet it isn’t his questions that bother me. It’s the way I answer them without a second thought, telling him everything he wants to know before I can tell myself to lie, if not ignore the inquiries altogether.

Or have I been on my own for so long that I’m desperate for anything that anyone - even Shizuo - will give me?

Ignoring the question, I lead my enemy into the quiet restaurant. We take the table in the back, far away from an older couple enjoying their meal.

 

* * *

 

We had eaten in silence, undoubtedly making each other uncomfortable as we traded mixed messages through short glances, looking away less than a second after our eyes would meet.

I’ve never considered Shizuo much of a thinker, just an idiot who always acts without a plan. However, as he pretended to concentrate on his yakitori, while I picked at my ootoro, it was obvious that the blond had a lot weighing on his simple mind.

Even afterwards, hardly a word was spoken as we made our way back to my apartment.

“How’s your head?” he wonders now, approaching the door with me.

“It’s okay,” I half smile. “I’m a just little tired…”

“Yeah. I can tell,” he nods, “Take it easy. Not sure all that running was good for you.”

“It wasn’t that much…” I scoff, unlocking the door.

“You’re not exactly in good shape, Izaya,” he tells me.

Frowning, I decide that it’s a bit of a disheartening thing to hear. I know my condition isn’t good, but is it that bad… that obvious? Come to think of it… I suppose I have lost weight… throwing up so frequently, eating less, laying around all day. By now, I’m sure the majority of my muscle mass has disintegrated into nothing more than scraps of what it used to be. I hadn't even thought about it until now. I haven't weighed myself at all recently, when I used to everyday.

Everything about me is weak. My mind… my body…

“Do you think my life will ever go back to the way it used to be?” I ask, the words hurting more to say aloud than to keep to myself.

Shizuo frowns too, staring at his shoes. “I hope so…”

“Why…? Doesn’t it make your life easier to know I’m so pathetic and useless…?”

“Easier? I guess so… but definitely less interesting.”

“Oh, really?” I muse, “Elaborate on this?”

A nervous chuckle sneaks out of him as he rubs the back of his neck. “I dunno… ‘Bukuro can be a bit lonely when you’re not there to fuck it up. Feels… quiet.”

“I really make that much of an impact, ne?” I say with a sense of pride.

He nods. “Never really realized it until you stopped showing up.”

“Heh… Glad to know someone misses me.”

“ _Miss you?_ I put up with you more than anybody else!” he reminds me. “While everyone else gets to be free of your shit, I have to work for you now.”

“At least I’m paying you well. Even if it is all your fault.”

Shizuo clenches his jaw. “You provoked me.”

Part of me wants to laugh for the way we’re still stuck on these excuses. The other part sits on the sidelines, wishing we’d come up with something knew - wishing the real reason for our animosity in the beginning would come forth, telling us why we’re like this to begin with.

I know that there are a lot of people in this world who hate me. In fact, I won’t even deny that they have good reason to. Their feelings never bothered me, and I never try to force them to love me. After all, I love every human being on this god forsaken planet, but there are plenty of personalities I despise.

So why do I find it so damn frustrating that Shizuo hates me the way he does, even if it’s true that I feel the same?

“Anyway… you should get some rest.”

“You’re not coming in?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

I shrug, trying to evade an emptiness that begins to settle in. “Suit yourself…”

Slowly, he turns to leave, hesitating for a minute as he looks back at me. That calm that I’ve only ever experienced with Shizuo fills the air once again.

A strong feeling in my chest tells me to wait before I shut the door.

“Izaya…?” he says, taking several steps back until he is right in front of me again; mere inches separating our bodies so that I can feel his unnatural warmth without even touching him.

“Hm… Maybe…”

“What…?”

I sigh. “Maybe Shizu-chan isn’t as monstrous as he appears to be.”

Said monster’s breath audibly hitches in his throat as he stares at me with gaping gold eyes. He moves in closer and I keep my eyes trained on him without moving a muscle.

For a short moment, the world stops on its axis, and I become lost to his hot breath ghosting over my skin before silky lips brush over my cheek.

Shizuo backs away just as quickly as he kisses me. By now, his eyes are so comically wide, I wonder if he’ll ever close them again. Yet, I don’t comment, finding myself equally stunned as his back hit’s the wall in the hallway with a decent thud.

Bringing my hand up to cover the tingling patch he left on my cheek, I watch him use both of his own hands to cover his mouth. His breathing is panicked - rigid as he contemplates the severity of his actions. Actions that I cannot even process quite yet.

Mixed feelings swirl within me like a furious tornado, tearing up everything I know about personal sentiments; twisting them in its wrath. I do nothing, feeling as if the world has just fallen out from under my feet. Nevertheless, of all the many things I feel at this particular moment in time, regret and anger are virtually nonexistent, making it impossible for me to hate what Shizuo has just done.

Something about it…

“I’m so sorry, Izaya,” he breathes, hand still covering his mouth.

I swallow hard, wondering if I should find it strange that I’m still breathing, or that I haven’t woken up yet.

“Shizuo…?” his name spills from my lips against my will.

“I’m sorry.”

Without another word, he bolts from the scene as quickly as his long legs can carry him. As his touch fades from my skin, I am left too stunned to follow.

The air is thick with tension, even with him gone.

Unsure of what else I can do, I continue to stand on my threshold, attempting to process what just happened. Attempting to accept that there really are tears beading in my eyes.

Instead of finding answers, I find my heart erratically throwing itself against the inner walls of my chest, so hard and so fast that at any moment, I’m sure it will break out and run from me.

Did he…

Did Heiwajima Shizuo really… just… kiss me?

 

* * *

 

I can't stop thinking about it.

My mind won’t go anywhere else.

His lips. My skin. The tingling sensation that refuses to go away as a result. It sent some sort of feeling - akin to sparks - shooting through my bloodstream, attacking more than just this one patch of skin.

I don't know what it means.

I don't know why it feels like drowning and flying at the exact same time.

All I do know is that I think I hate it. And I don't think that monsters like Shizuo are supposed to make a person feel like this. They aren't supposed to make _Izaya Orihara_ feel like this, as I am above trite emotions. Unwilling to succumb to another.  
  
I will not be controlled.  
  
Big words they are, which go unspoken. The standards have never been set quite so high as to appear almost out of reach.  
  
Yet not so high that he isn't keeping me awake tonight.  
  
Tossing and turning, I know I am exhausted. My eyelids are heavy. My muscles are sore. However, my mind is screaming desperately for answers; refusing to be ignored. It does not want me to waste my precious time on sleep.  
  
Is it too much to ask for it to all go away?  
  
Becoming desperate, I roll out of bed, shuddering as the cool air hits my body after keeping so warm beneath my blankets and sheets. I despise the cold.  
  
Treading to the bathroom, I decide that it isn't so wrong to give in all of the time. Sometimes, a desperate situation calls for it. And if this isn't desperate, I don't know what is.  
  
Shuffling through my medicine cabinet, I dig through shelf after shelf until I pinpoint exactly what I am in need of.  
  
I told myself I would never use these; that if anything, I'd drug somebody with them instead. Slip them into the right person's drink at the right time for the right job, if not my own amusement.  
  
Now, here I am, glaring at the bright orange bottle as I curse my dependency.  
  
So unfair. So disgusting.  
  
I down two sleeping pills before trudging back to bed, entirely discontented with my choice to take them. Is it even that anymore? A choice?  
  
What's next? Will I be forced out of dealing information entirely; left with no other options but to actually take up financial planning as a legitimate career, rather than a disguise? Like a desperate nobody who threw away his childhood dream because of some minor setback?  
  
I was not born to be limited or powerless.  
  
I am above rules. Above limitations. Above my humans. And most certainly above Shizuo.  
  
But if it's true... if I'm not just telling myself the things I want to hear... why am I thinking about it like this? Why can I still feel him?  
  
And why is it that I'm the one who needs him so damn much?  
  
Most importantly... would I have let him kiss me if I had seen it coming?

I’m beginning to doubt myself.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kindness. The comments left here have been so super sweet and I'm really happy. I love posting it here because I get to revisit it and it's something I'm actually really proud of. I love that there are new people still reading it.  
> I'm also SUUUUPER excited for season 2. And! What I've read of Durarara!! SH is pretty good. I'm really excited to read more.
> 
> I'm gonna be all weird and sentimental for a second, but this series is one that I really, REALLY respect, I wouldn't have met my best friends without it. My best friend, Jelly, and I met because I wrote this story. Almost three years ago, when I wrote this fic, Jelly read it and left me a comment on deviantArt (lol because I never use it) and we met up at a convention and we've been super close ever since. She's my platonic girlfriend sister. I don't know, man. At that SAME convention, I met Sylar and we were best friends pretty much immediately. And together we met Chimera, my cosplay partner and beautiful friend. Together, we started a large, wonderful cosplay family and will, hopefully, be featuring are family in a Durarara!! ask panel at Sabotencon 2014. 
> 
> So yeah. This story means a lot to me. And I think about all these things every time I look back on it because my life would not have turned out so fucking awesome with the friends that I have now if I hadn't written it.

[ _Are you a lonely person, Izaya_ _Orihara_ _?_ ]

Grimacing, I slam my laptop shut, almost hoping to have broken the pricey electronic for the sheer fact that nothing would please me more than wiping this question out of my hard drive, and therefore, my memory.

What the hell kind of question is that?!  
  
The kind that doesn't warrant a response, I decide, rubbing away a sore spot developing in my head.

Why does he always try to make it so personal? And how does he always make it sound so strange and perverted through an online chat?  
  
Save me, Chris Hansen! This invisible man wants to touch me inappropriately!  
  
"You seem agitated, Orihara-san," a cool voice reaches my ears, tearing me away from my mental rant while I attempt to burn holes in my laptop with my eyes.  
  
Needless to say, I don't think it's working.  
  
Sighing, I look up at Shiki-san, willing the scowl away from my face. "Worried about me?" I tease, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.  
  
"I'm worried that you may be unfit for this job," he is blunt as ever in his opinion. "Is my money well spent?"  
  
I don't let the possible insult offend me, but add fuel to my fire. "Have I ever failed you?" I give him a confident grin.  
  
"We both know that it is not your skill that concerns me. I would only expect the best from you. Your unfortunate health is what I worry about."  
  
"Unfortunate? That's mean, Shiki-san."  
  
"The truth hurts," he smiles.

"Aye... so it does."  
  
"But you have been feeling better recently?" he asks, settling his dark gray eyes on mine.  
  
"Yes," I nod.  
  
"Migraines, is it?"  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe," I calmly tell him with a sad smile. "The doctor says its cause is a brain injury. On the plus side, it‘s not a tumor."  
  
Leaving my desk, I slink closer toward him, enjoying the way he tenses as I approach. I take a seat beside him on the couch.  
  
"It's a shame to lose such a valuable resource - even temporarily," Shiki keeps professional, leaning forward to sift through a few files I've created for him. "Is there anything I can do to be of help?"  
  
I think for a moment, leaning back against the ebony leather cushions. "Don't write me off. I'm still the best you have."  
  
"Underestimating our value, Orihara-san?"  
  
I clench my teeth, realizing how the tables are slowly beginning to turn. "I already told you I'm the best. You knew it the first time you hired me. And you know it now."  
  
Bringing is full focus back to me, the executive's miniscule grin completely vanishes from his otherwise serious face. "Knowing how stubborn you can be, I feel as if there is another matter weighing on your mind. One that has nothing to do with me. Dare I ask?"

"Nothing ever gets past Shiki-san, does it?" I nervously laugh.  
  
"Not when you're involved. I need to know that you're in the right mind before asking for your services."  
  
His expectations of me are not irrational, both of us knowing I have far too much respect for him to damage our business relationship.

"I won't allow my personal matters to compromise business with you," I say in full knowledge that it already has. "It's just that..."  
  
Sharply inhaling, I stare down at my hands, not missing the way they shake when my head is pounding. And at the same time, I know I'm denying that I wish they were, because waiting to find myself in agony is torture in itself.  
  
"Do you remember when we met...?" I ask.  
  
He smirks. "Who could forget watching a sixteen-year-old demolish a grown man with words alone? You intrigued me immediately."  
  
"And why did you hire me?"  
  
Shiki shrugs. "Numerous purposes."  
  
"But the real reason...?"  
  
"Judging me, Orihara-san?" he teasingly inquires.  
  
"Not at all. You hired me because you were infatuated with me. Weren't you?"  
  
Shiki is calm. If he's feeling any semblance of surprise right now, it's masked behind his stoic exterior; not even appearing in his glassy steel-colored eyes. He knows me far too well to be played by clever words.  
  
"It's true," he nods slowly, "You do have a beautiful charm about you that reeled me in. Though... need I remind you that you were rather infatuated as well?"  
  
I smile coyly. "Or maybe you're better at hiding it."

"Regardless, we never would have worked out," the man neither confirms nor denies me less-than-subtle insinuation. "You're much too young, and your emotional attachment to other people is practically nonexistent. To you, I'm just another interesting specimen beneath your looking glass."  
  
"Yet you still find it impossible not to love me," I state with pride.  
  
"Impossible?" he shakes his head, "No. Difficult. You're _difficult_ , Orihara-san."  
  
"Oh right… You've moved on."

"Only because you can't love individually, or unconditionally. Why should I waste my time? I have far more important things to do than allow myself to be broken up over you."  
  
"You're right, Shiki-san," I agree keeping my melancholy grin, almost regretting what we could have been, knowing he could have given me everything and more - knowing he wanted to. "I couldn't even pretend."  
  
Tilting his head, he observes me from a sideways angle. "So what is this really about?"  
  
"When did you realize Akabayashi was right for you...?"  
  
Shiki pulls a cigarette from his white blazer's pocket, knowing I won't deny him his nicotine fix, as much as I hate for him to smoke in my apartment. "When he lost his eye," he tells me, taking a long drag from the stick. "And even when his heart was broken, he was still smiling like some crazed imbecile, just as he always does."  
  
My heart skips a beat, taking the time to instead fill with adrenaline. "When we were still together?!"  
  
"You asked when I realized it; not when I accepted it," he explains. "That took much longer."  
  
"Really...?"  
  
"I was never once disloyal to you,” he promises.  
  
I do not try to hide what we both know to be true. "I was. Severely."  
  
"That's because you're positively insatiable."  
  
"I was," I correct him. "Now, I just feel like a feeble old man."  
  
"Are you ever going to tell me what this is about?" he wonders.  
  
Chewing on my bottom lip, I spend a few moments, staring off into space while my mind attempts to put an answer together. Shiki's eyes are still trained on me as they so often are.  
  
"The man I hate most…" I take a deep breath, knowing that if I don't speak now I never will, "…kissed me yesterday. And then Shinichi asked me if I was lonely."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Lonely?" I scoff. "I don't know."

“And the kiss…?”

“Clueless.”  


* * *

 

 

“Damn it, Shizu-chan, answer your phone!” I curse into the mouthpiece as the black device picks up ring after ring until the automated service that is his voicemail interrupts.

I hang up; then redial. Hang up. Redial. Hang up. Redial.

Ahhh, it’s the same fucking mantra in the form of technology!

But the brute doesn’t answer, despite our deal. And he hasn’t answered.

This is ridiculous.

Fucking ridiculous.

For nearly four days - _four_ fucking days - I’ve heard nothing from him, and as far as I know, neither has anybody else. It is as if the protozoan simply vanished off the face of the earth, and everyone is too caught up in their own pathetic little lives to even notice. Do they have no idea of the turmoil I am in!?

All the while, my conversation with Shiki plays in my head, telling me that I may be feeling something I could never feel for the executive.

The thought sends a shudder through my spine as I continue to call.

“Maybe he’s on vacation,” Shinra tried to tell me two days ago, knowing it was a cheap shot from the start.

“Oh please. Like you don’t already know I hired him,” I snapped.

“He… may have mentioned it.”

“Look, I don’t have time to mess around,” I groaned, “I’m completely out of pills, including the shit you gave me. I need him.”

“Better Shizuo than drugs, right?” he tried to lighten the mood.

“Do you want to die?” I snapped.

“I’m sorry, Izaya. I really haven’t heard from him. Neither has Celty. But I’ll call you if we do.”

“Fucking useless…” I hissed, losing hope.

“I’m sorry. I’ll send Celty over with some painkillers if you want.”

“No thanks…”

 

I haven’t stopped thinking about Shizuo’s kiss, even when the pounding in my head insists on being my main, torturous focus, I can’t stop, constantly wishing I could still feel it, as anything in the world is better than this pain. Honestly, I can’t even say I care that he did it. After all, the action was nothing more than a small peck. Innocent and clueless, bearing no ulterior motives that I could read, despite how unpredictable the blond can be.

Now, as a dizzying migraine threatens to devour me, I need him. Closed blinds and the hot pack over my forehead is not enough to rid me of my suffering. Only Shizuo can do that.

I could kill him for ignoring me.

A final ring claws through my eardrum before his voicemail picks up for the billionth time. Wherever he is, I know he knows I’m calling. So this time, I leave a message.

“Damn it, Shizu-chan,” I sigh, reminding myself that the best way to survive this affliction is just to breathe as best I can. “Stop being such a stubborn idiot. I don’t fucking care that you kissed me. Just get your ass over here. Now.”

If this pain isn’t the death of me, suffocation due to anxiety just might draw my final breath.

Ten minutes later, my phone vibrates with a new text message.

[ _Be there as soon as I finish this job_.]

A subtle feeling of bitterness washes over me, making me feel things for Shizuo that I haven’t felt since hiring him. I wish I could hate him more than I ever have before. Unfortunately, I’m far too desperate for his warmth, angry that for the past two days I’ve suffered through blinding torment while he ignores my disgustingly desperate calls.

Oh, I could really kill him.

Tears sting my eyes as I stare at the screen, typing out a message as quickly as I can before phone’s bright light burns a hole through my brain.

I have nothing to numb this on my own.

[ _Hurry. I need you._ ]

[ _On my way_.]

Tch…

He really does irritate me. This is his fucking fault, I’m paying him, and he can’t even show up when he’s needed? Let alone take a damn call? But of course, after I chew him out via voice message, he has the audacity to reply in a text?!

Coward.

Kissing me like that and then not even having the common courtesy to answer is phone. For someone so strong, the idiot really has no guts. Sure, he may seem ballsy when he’s pissed off, and even more so with that sneak attack act of insanity he tried to pull. But if he doesn’t have the intestinal fortitude to give me an explanation - let alone do his job - then why the hell did he go and do it in the first place!?

Idiot.

 

* * *

 

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“Whoa…” he raises his hands in surrender, “Take it easy, Flea.”

“No!” I snap. “I’ve been losing my fucking mind thanks to you!”

Taking note that I’m seething at this point, Shizuo is hesitant to bring himself inside my apartment, probably wondering if this is the last place he’s going to see before he dies. I don’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d be afraid, too.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, managing to step inside before I’m driven to slam the door in his dumb face due to the raw anger. “I meant to call you back.”

“Did you?” I hiss. “Or do you honestly think that these headaches have me so delusional that I wouldn’t remember how desperate I was for you!”

Reaching out as if to touch me, Shizuo quickly finds himself recoiling when I slap his hand away. “Izaya…”

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn him, wishing I had my switchblade on me so that I can show him just how serious I am. Before I can stop them, I feel the burn of tears prick my eyes. “What the hell am I even paying you for?”

“You don’t have to pay me,” his frown deepens, “Already told you that. And I swear. I wasn’t trying to ignore you!”

“Then what were you doing?” I interrogate him, demanding an explanation before this ends in bloodshed.

“I was gonna to call you back,” his voice is soft and honest. “I was seriously planning to apologize for kissing you like that. I mean… I know it’s inappropriate. I really dunno what got into me and-”

“Get to the point,” I say, unfazed by his lame excuses.

“My brother came home early. I just forgot…”

“FORGOT!?” I echo, feeling my stomach churn from a mixture of pain and ire. “I’ve been calling you for three fucking days. How the hell do you forget?”

My words must be offensive because he immediately growls back at me. “I just fucking did.”

“Oh? So explain why you ran off the other day? Since, clearly, it has nothing to do with forgetting about me.”

Shizuo clenches his fists, holding them firmly at his sides. We are locked in a staring contest for a few moments as he tries to ride out his own waves of anger. That said, mine aren’t going anywhere.

With my brain feeling like it’s about to explode out of my skull - my entire body shaking as a result of the pain - I tell myself that I’m not about to lose twice today. Especially not to Shizuo. I have every right to be upset, and even more right to continue on hating him. How dare he use me like that…

Eventually, he relaxes a bit, staring at me with apologetic eyes.

“I tried to answer…” he says quietly, “And I tried to call you back…”

“You’re going to have to elaborate because saying you tried isn‘t going to save your sorry ass.”

“I… after I…”

“Kissed me?”

He swallows a lump in his throat, barely choking it down. “I didn’t know what to say…”

“I don’t need you to speak. I need your body heat,” I remind him, cradling my head in my hands.

It feels like being hit over and over and fucking over again.

A nauseating chill runs down my spine. Suddenly, the world begins to tilt.

“Hey…” he steps forward, reaching out to me. “Izaya… hey…”

Staggering backwards, I make a guess at what he’s trying to tell me. “I’m fine,” I insist, silently wondering how many times I’ve dropped this line when it was clearly untrue.

“No. You’re not,” he disagrees, “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’ve… I’ve always… had… light skin…” retorting, I suddenly feel as if the air has been squeezed out of my lungs, and my esophagus tied to prevent its reentrance. With one hand on my head, the other reaches for my pounding heart.

I can’t breathe…

Why can’t I breathe?!

“Izaya?!” I hear the brute call my name.

Black spots invade my sight, making it impossible for me to see the man who sounds so distant, almost as if he’s speaking to me under water. My mind goes blank, and my body simultaneously feels both heavy and light. An impossible blend of floating and falling.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Muffled and without form, the voices surrounding me are much too loud, filling my head; irritating my senses. I can’t help but release a groan of annoyance as they pull me into consciousness.

“Ngh…” I try opening my eyes, finding the experience difficult as my vision is infiltrated by light; albeit dim. With a migraine like this, Even the dull glow sets fire to my eyes. This is bad.

“I-Izaya…?”

I recognize that sound, though my head feels heavy. Too heavy to think about who it could be.

And, despite the eruption in my head, I’m so comfortable… so comfortable enveloped in a heat so perfect that it can only be described as when -

“Come on, Flea…” another familiar voice comes in, reverberating through my rib cage.

Shuddering at the sound, my eyes adjust to the small onslaught of light, soon giving shape and definition to my surroundings. I feel like shit, yet somehow, I manage through it.

I’m in my bedroom, tucked under blankets and sheets while Shinra stands at the foot of my bed, wearing his usual sadistic grin on his boyish face. I wonder what the hell he’s smiling about until I feel a slight push against my back.

I close my eyes again, wishing to succumb to the dark heat. Shizuo takes another deep breath; his heart beating erratically, driving me insane - though not in an unpleasant sense - as I feel it through my shirt; against my shoulder. Quite honestly, I don’t know what to make of it; yet if it sticks around a while longer… I don’t think I’d mind…

Shifting, I make myself more comfortable against his strong chest, wondering if this is uncomfortable for him. Then again, what do I care? It isn’t as if I’ve asked the monster to take me in his potentially deadly arms in such a fashion. I did not volunteer myself to be placed between his legs like this; sharing my bed with him in a way that is only for my benefit.

Really. I didn’t.

“Well… this is awkward…” I say slowly, feeling two sets of eyes on me.

“You collapsed,” Shinra explains what I’ve already pieced together by now.

Frankly, I don’t care. I’m just relieved to be soaking in this warmth after four days of withdrawal. Stupid Shizu-chan… Excuses aside, he’s here now. And maybe this is what I should have been focused on all along, rather than yelling at him about how he wasn’t here when I needed him… and that kiss just doesn’t matter so long as I’m getting what I want.

“Is that a problem?” I tease, quickly striking the doctor with my cynical thoughts.

“You’re running a pretty high fever, Izaya,” he tells me, ignoring my crass tone.

“And here I was thinking I was immune to all illness.”

“Don’t be such a shit, Flea,” the brute behind me growls. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“You mean it didn’t excite you at all? Or make you think - for a split second - I might be dead?!” Receiving a mental image of the blond dancing on my grave, I can’t help but chuckle.

And for the record, I’m still pissed off.

“No…”

“Oh, Shizu-chan. Such a hero, ne?” I smile, rolling onto my side. Without thinking much of it, I press my ear against his chest, only startling myself when I hear the surprisingly soothing beat of his heart still going crazy behind his ribs. It makes me wonder why prescriptions can’t work quite so well. This is…

“It’s stress induced, Izaya.”

I open an eye half-way to give Shinra the best scrutinizing glare I can muster at the moment. It isn’t much, but it still makes him shiver.

“For someone who’s home all day, you shouldn’t have anything weighing on you enough to make you ill like this,” he explains, certain that he’s right. “And you’ve sort of let yourself go. The Orihara Izaya I’ve known since middle school is kind of a health nut. You’re in terrible shape.”

“That’s insulting,” I tell him.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t tell you the truth?”

For the most part, I know he’s right. I have, indeed, let myself go. However… there is a reason behind the stress. What Shinra doesn’t realize is that I know exactly what the source is.

* * *

 

"So… I'll be alright, then?" I ask Shinra, feeling eager for him to leave.

I’ve been awake for at least an hour now; happy to say I have barely moved from my comfortable position held in place by this man, while his fingers automatically find my hair as they so often do. It would be the most relaxing sensation in the world were it not for Shinra’s constant questions and “advice” on what I should, and should not, do to or with my body while in this questionable state of being.

"Yes, but I would still suggest taking it easy and drinking plenty of fluids, just like with any other fever," he nods, "And chill out. You really have to try taking care of yourself. It seems to me that you've just sort of given up…"

This comment brings a deep frown to my face.

"The Izaya I know wouldn't let this eat him alive."

But his tone, and those words, make me smile despite the influx of bad news. "You haven't sounded so nurturing in years, Shinra," I tell him.

The doctor appears mildly hurt, his gaze flicking back and forth between mine and Shizuo's. He's soaking in the image, all the while, recollections of our youth fill his mind. Shinra is contemplative, wondering if it should have been him all this time. "You're still my friend. I have no idea why… but you are."

"Middle school?" I decide to mention.

"Right… middle school…"

Shizuo shifts from beneath me, undoubtedly uncomfortable. He can sense the subtle hints in our tones. This is something that digs into a past he wasn't a part of, but he won't dare to read between the lines.

Shinra collects what medical supplies he has brought with him, leaving a fresh bottle of sleeping pills on my dresser. "I called in a refill for your prescription, by the way," he says, "You can have Celty bring it to you tomorrow."

"Thanks…"

"Yeah…" Shizuo adds quietly, "Thanks for coming over. I wouldn't have known what to do."  
  
Taking one last look at an image none of us ever thought would - or should - exist, the doctor takes his leave, adding a final thought. "Just try not to hurt him."

"I won't," the blond beneath me replies.

Shinra looks back with a dark, wry smirk. We both know who he's really talking to, subtly leaving a clueless Shizuo out of the loop.

"Is it just me or was he acting extremely weird?" he asks as soon as we hear the front door click.

Rolling my eyes, I cannot help but find amusement in the irony. Shinra has never acted this way before. That said, there's a reason for it. With our feelings mutual, I never expected to gain that sort of reaction.

Shizuo and I… we aren't even… Nowhere near…

"When is he _not_ weird?"

"Yeah... but... did something happen between you that I don't know about?"

Oh, Shizu-chan. You have no idea.

"He's just being bitter. Don't worry about it."

He huffs, unsatisfied by my secrets; not caring whether or not any of it is his business. Controlled by curiosity, I can sense that this will eat at him until he knows there's nothing to worry about. So, Shizuo isn't human; yet he can still act like one.

"Do you plan to continue acting like a little boy until I tell you what you think you want to hear, Shizu-chan?"  
  
"No..." he grumbles, "I don't know... maybe."

His attempt at secrecy is almost cute. Surprisingly, not at all unpleasant.

Defeated by his childish attitude, I decide I can always keep it vague, wondering how many more of my past relationships are going to sneak up on me this week.

"Shinra and I had a... thing."

"A _thing_...?"

I nod, feeling a little dirty, "Yeah. A thing."

"What kind of thing?"

“Just a little thing!” I pretend it’s no big deal - because it’s _not_.

Shizuo seems to disagree… “What kind of little thing?”

"The kind that he calls an experiment… which I suppose it was, depending on who you ask."

"Okay…"

He doesn't get it, and if he does, he's trying hard not to.

"Still confused?" I wonder, trying not to sound too condescending. I’d rather he did not see me as so many people do.

"A little…"

"At the end of middle school until right before high school, I used Shinra frequently."

"Tch. What else is new? You kinda use everyone."

I clear my throat, attempting to make it more obvious. "Not quite like that…”

Realization seems to knock Shizuo upside the head as he jolts. Every one of his muscles beneath me tenses, becoming hard like steel. Looking at him, the man is toned enough, but still pretty thin. His actions are a lot bigger than anyone who doesn't know of him would expect, and I'm sure that if he weren't so tall, he wouldn't be much bigger than me. It's his height that gives him his size. But when he feels like this, you realize that there's something raw and powerful beneath the surface. Something that nobody should ever be foolish enough to awaken.

Right now, he isn't even angry.

"You and Shinra?!" he asks with just the right inflection giving away his shock and surprise.

"It was like ten years ago, Shizu-chan," I say with nonchalance, feeling that it really isn't a big deal who I've been with in the past.

On top of that, it has strictly nothing to do with him. We had yet to be introduced when it happened. Not like it matters even if we had. I hate him. We hate each other.  
  
"But... Shinra...?" he says with a bit of scrutiny, "Why Shinra?"  
  
Smiling fondly at my childhood reminiscences, I tell him, hardly paying attention to myself as I make it a point to snuggle closer. "We were closer than one might think. There's more beneath the surface than meets the eye."  
  
"Obviously," he scoffs.  
  
I shrug, trying not to care. "I needed to get my rocks off somehow."  
  
"Then why not a girl?"  
  
"Too complicated - clingy," I explain, "Especially at fourteen. Not that my parents were around to care, but being so young... and then there's the attachment. Shinra just seemed… logical."  
  
"What about Celty...?" he wonders, clearly concerned for his friend; knowing where her feelings for the estranged doctor now stand.  
  
"She knows. I told her. After all, we were kids. It was nothing more than a phase."  
  
Shizuo thinks about it for a minute, trying to process this new information, because it's certainly something he never would have expected. He never over-analyzes anything. I assume it is because he's too emotional. He finds these complicated circumstances aggravating, and probably emotionally painful at times.  
  
So maybe he's not really an idiot. He just doesn't want to get hurt more than he has been.  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"I broke it off. He loved Celty too much, and I owe it to him not to get between that for my own benefit," I grin, with Shiki's word - _insatiable_ \- popping into mind. "Naturally, being each other's first, we do care about each other. Albeit, I'm sure he resents me just a little too much."  
  
"Seems so weird... I dunno..."  
  
"What's done is done. With only one shot at life, I'm not going to sit back and crumble over the dork - or anyone else for that matter."  
  
A few moments of silence pass between us. I relax as his hand finds my hair again, nearly lulling me to sleep with those magic fingers. As quickly as the topic began, it fades away.  
  
What bothers me now are the doctor's departing words.  
  
Knowing what he means is far from accepting it.  
  
Shizuo isn't like them. He isn't like Shinra or Shiki by any means. My relationships with them both were nothing more than that of a hormonal placebo, filling a particular void until they found what they truly needed. In turn, I was temporarily satisfied.  
  
That said, I have no intention of being the same way for Shizuo; no reason to fill his void until somebody else comes along.

Why?

Because I don't give my employees benefits, nor do I succumb to their fickle games of Kiss-and-Run.

Unlike the others before him, I don't want Shizuo. I _need_ him.

Kissing me won't change that.

"Izaya...?"

"Hm?" I respond sleepily, slowly emptying my thoughts; running through each one carefully just before putting it in the back of my mind for another day.

I feel awful with the effects of my fever making themselves more prevalent since the conversation has died. There is a light throbbing in my head, though it is nothing close to what I am generally cursed with. And then there's Shizuo's hand slowly chasing it away.  
  
"You've been with a lot of people, haven‘t you?"  
  
"Ne. Don't make me sound like a slut."  
  
"That's not... I mean... NO!" he stutters, "That's not what I'm trying to say!"  
  
"Calm down, Shizu-chan. I'm only teasing."  
  
He sighs in relief. "I can never tell..."   
  
"If that is what you thought of me, I would have nobody to blame but myself. What makes you ask?"  
  
"I dunno... have you ever been in love...?"  
  
"Me?" I smirk. "No. And I can't say I have any desire for it either."  
  
"Really?" he comes off as a little disheartened. "Why not...?"  
  
"Because emotional attachment would only get in the way of personal goals. Besides, with so many interesting humans at my beck and call, who would I choose? As much as I'd enjoy it, not everyone can have me."  
  
"I see..."  
  
"What about you?" I ask, doing my best to keep this from going in the direction I know he's hoping it will. "Shizu-chan must like someone, ne?"  
  
"What makes you say that?!" he jumps on the defense.  
  
"Simple. Girls adore you."  
  
He shakes his head as if to disagree. "I've never been with anyone."

“At all?”

“At all,” he echoes.  
  
For some reason, I find this surprising, even if it isn't all that unlikely. The idea alone seems frightening.  
  
"Well, that‘s a shame," I use my best reassuring voice, "You'd be good at it."  
  
"I don't think so..."  
  
I look up at him in time to catch his frown as he stares out the window, gold eyes unfocused on what actually sits outside of the glass. Night has fallen over Tokyo, and the countless lights of the city reflect in each melancholy sphere.  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"What if I hurt them...?"

"I don't think you would," I say with confidence, somehow pained by such a hurt look in his eyes. "Shizu-chan couldn't hurt someone he cares about."  
  
"Then why is it so easy for me to hurt you?"

Startled by his heavy words, I will my heart to keep its regular pace. Being in his arms like this is mortifying enough. Equip the right words to them, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do anymore. I don't know what he means.   
  
"Because we're different," I explain, "Because you don't care about me in an affectionate manner."  
  
"But _why_?"  
  
There's a sense of urgency in his tone. He really needs to know.  
  
"I don't know. That's just how we're programmed."  
  
"So... what if I wanna be reprogrammed then?"

This is becoming a strange conversation that has me shifting uncomfortably, though I don‘t think he notices. "I never thought about it. I don't have any desire to be re-written."  
  
"Even though you're sick?" he queries, tightening his hold; bringing me closer to his heat.  
  
"Sticking with computer analogies, let's just call this a virus, ne?"  
  
"Then... does that make me an anti-virus...?"  
  
Even as exhaustion begins to take me, I can't help the entertained laugh that erupts out of me in response to such a question. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what this man is. He's something else, that's for certain.  
  
Maybe he isn't even all that bad. A little rough around the edges, while remaining a clean cut visual. Honest. Good natured at heart, despite the violent rampages. And there must be sugar in his blood, or something, to make him act like this toward _me_ \- of all people.  
  
I guess I never saw him as a bad guy anyway. Misunderstood, maybe.  
  
But beneath it all, maybe Heiwajima Shizuo is just like everybody else. He wants to be loved. He doesn't want to live out his life alone, in fear that he'll cause harm to somebody he has feelings for. So, for the briefest of moments, I try to imagine myself in his place, wondering what it would be like to strive for trite romances. Because at twenty-four, he's never had one, while I can count way too many names of people I only pretended to care about.  
  
He wants what I take for granted - what I see as nothing more than a terrible weakness. A weakness that I've only ever feared, and never felt for myself.  
  
So was that his first time placing his lips on another person's skin? And am I the first person he has ever held? Is longing for love a greater curse than being trapped in its clutches?  
  
An anxious pit opens in my stomach at the thought.

For all the people I've been with, manipulated, charmed, used, and thrown away, I've never known anybody quite like this.  
  
"It's getting late..." he whispers through the darkness that has filled the room.  
  
I know what that means; yet for some reason...  
  
[ _Are you lonely, Orihara-san?_ ]  
  
Grimacing, I pathetically latch onto Shizuo's shirt, telling myself that it's simply not possible. I have absolutely everything I could ever need. And more. I am above loneliness just as I am above the need for the love of another.  
  
What happens next isn't for me. It's for Shizuo. It's to show him that the stupid kiss wasn't a big deal, so he doesn't have to hide from me. I don't care, just as long as he's here when I need him. I don't care.  
  
"You should stay," I tell him, loving the way his heart rate shoots back up at my words, furiously pumping with adrenaline.  
  
"A-are you sure about that?" he asks, dumbfounded.  
  
"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have said so."  
  
"I... uh..."  
  
"I'm sick. And tired. And everything hurts... so stay."  



	12. Chapter 12

"Ugh... I feel like shit..." I groan, slowly rolling out of bed the following morning.  
  
Pressing a clammy palm against my forehead, I fight for clarity in my vision and thoughts as I stand. My legs wobble. I wonder if this is how jellyfish feel when they wash up on sandy shores.  
  
"Maybe you should stay in bed," Shizuo suggests nervously, offering an arm for support.  
  
I shiver in response to the slight sensation of heat, never neglecting to remember that it was mine all night as we slept together. But I can’t keep thinking about his arms twisted around me. The thoughts are going to force me into self-destruction.  
  
"No," I shake my head, "I have to pee..."  
  
"Ah... right..."  
  
The last time I felt this bad I had been severely hung over, reminding me how stupid it is that I don't mind poisoning myself with alcohol if the situation calls for it, but I hate taking medications. I suppose this is because one makes me feel empowered and the other makes me feel weak.

"Damn it! This sucks!" I whine, clinging to the blond like some weak and useless wretch.  
  
He helps me keep steady and balanced as we move into the bathroom. "You’re okay," he says in a promising tone, "I have you."

"And I have a migraine the size of Mount Fuji!"

“Celty already sent me a text. She’s bringing your medication soon.”

“You know that shit doesn’t help, ne?” I ask him, slipping out of his grip to use the bathroom door as my new source of support.

“I thought it made you less nauseous…?”

“Weh,” I mumble. I wave him off, closing the door for a bit of privacy.

 

Reemerging moments later, I am not at all surprised to find him waiting for me, quickly motioning to slip his arm around me as he guides me back to bed. I quickly find that, even tucked into warm sheets, it’s far less comfortable without him.

“Izaya… You’re shaking…” he tells me, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I don’t say anything in response, feeling for myself as the tremors ripple through my worn body. Instead, I struggle to make myself feel like the filling inside of a fresh, hot steam bun. This fever is determined to make me feel as awful as possible, making sure that all the blankets in my apartment aren’t enough to feel warm.

“Shinra said you need fluids…” the blond keeps speaking, regardless of my lacking responses, “You didn’t have anything after he left. I bet you’re dehydrated.”

My eyes want to close, forcing me to fight to keep them open. They don’t care that I’ve only just woken up, but my body knows that the short journey to relieve myself used more energy than I actually have. Speaking feels like too much of a challenge right now.

“Hey…” Shizuo nudges me a bit, “Stay awake for a little bit. I’m gonna get you something to drink.”

“I… Ngh…” I flinch, the sound of my own voice worsening my headache. “Shizu-chan…”

The blond sits beside me on the edge of the mattress. His hand hasn’t moved from my shoulder, and he stares at me with concern in his saffron irises. Something about the look… it’s as if he is on the verge of tears if this ailment does not have me delirious.

“Y-you…”

“I what…?” he asks, both curious and skeptical.

His fingertips drag down my bicep, to my forearm, into my hand, where he laces our fingers and I can’t help but make a discomfited attempt to tighten the hold. It’s a pathetic gesture, displaying my lacking strength.

“You were…” I inhale, “You were never - _never_ supposed to see me weak.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes. “You’re not weak, Izaya.”

“Hnn… don’t lie…”

“I’m not.”

He is earnest, only sending me deeper into confusion while those sweet eyes sparkle. So tantalizing, even as he tears them away from my own, gazing sadly upon our intertwined fingers.

ACK! How delusional, I must be! Disgusting…

“Of course you are,” I argue, despite the protesting voice in my aching head. “And nobody with half a brain could disagree with me.”

"I'm serious," his voice drops an octave, and his brows furrow. "I don't think you're weak."

"What then…?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes. "If it's not weak to be completely vulnerable in front of you, what is it?!"

My words have him taken aback, but not quite hesitant. "You're sick... but you'll get better. I'll make damn sure you do."

"You can't make sure of anything, Shizu-chan," I tell him, burning holes into him with as cruel a leer as I can form.

Even my eyeballs are exhausted.

"How do you know?!" he argues desperately, putting up the fight to be understood. "I did this to you! I have to make it go away."  
  
"I'm not an idiot. Don't try to get my hopes up over something that's just as out of your control as it is mine."  
  
Suddenly, Shizuo stiffens, bringing forth an immediate tension that fills the room. "You're wrong. I can control it. I _have_ controlled it."  
  
"Tch..." I scowl, finally taking me eyes off of him.  
  
Though, I cannot help but feel the slightest fraction of intimidation in reaction to his current stance over me. He could kill me in a single swoop. Slam his fist on my chest. Stop my heart. Break my spine. Snap my neck.  
  
Except... there's something about him that ensures he isn't going to do any of those things.  
  
"You know I have," his harsh voice softens; his body relaxes. "I've watched it leave you with my own eyes."  
  
Shizuo's words send a shiver down my spine, somehow hurting me despite what they lack in malice. He means it. He believes it with every fiber of his being. And he wants to atone more than the most wretched of sinners in the face of his God. To make amends. Begging for a final chance.  
  
It's not simple a desire. To him, this is an absolute need. This is the difference between life and death. This is the difference between being human and a complete monstrosity.  
  
And none of it is really his fault.  
  
"I'm running out of fight, Shizu-chan..." I somberly tell him, staring at the ceiling above our heads. "Some mornings I wake up and wish I was dead."  
  
"I know..."  
  
A pressure builds up behind my eyes. Tears concocted of various breeds of pain infecting me like this illness. Body, mind, heart, and soul. I don't understand how anyone could ever be expected to live like this. Trapped beneath the weight of wretched agony. Cursed.  
  
"Don't make a promise you can't keep," I warn him, choking back the cries that would love to rip me in half at my most vulnerable.  
  
"Don't tell me I can't keep it."

I glance back at him, taking immediate notice to the glaze over his sunrise eyes, reflecting so much that he could never put into words. It's an image of his soul silently crying for help.  
  
Somehow, I understand it.  
  
"You know me better than to think that I would ever try to hurt anyone like this. Even you, Izaya." His shoulders slump in utter hopelessness. "I don't wanna be like this. I don't wanna be this damn monster that everyone fears."  
  
"What do you want, Shizuo?" I inquire, pulling myself up with what little of my strength remains to look at him on equal levels.  
  
The proper use of his name stuns his ears.  
  
It makes me realize that he's vulnerable too. He's in a state of pain that I've made a conscious effort to lock away. To not be consumed by. But it's shadowed. Unmasked as it is, his furious exterior makes it nearly invisible to those who only know his uncontrollable ire.  
  
Nobody knows him. Nobody truly comprehends life in his shoes, and how much it must pain him to make it through day after day the way he does. Constantly resenting himself for something he never asked for.  
  
Shizuo doesn't want to be alone. He simply doesn't have a choice.  
  
"If I could live my life with one person - just _one_ \- knowing I could never hurt them... that would be enough..." he sighs. "I'd love them with everything I've got. Fuck the rest."   


 

* * *

 

 

I confess that I find myself significantly blown away by this. A man whose sheer strength is a great weapon, capable of giving him anything he wants, longs for the one thing he fears to have. Meanwhile, I sit back and make a mockery of the prospect.  
  
 _Love_.  
  
Love which is just as cruel as it is a blessing. Love which builds us up to great heights, only to watch us shatter when we fall. Love that is so hard to come by; yet so easy to leave us.  
  
Love is destruction.  
  
Which is why I've made it a personal goal to stay far, far away. Because I may be weak; I may be spent, but I will not lose myself to a substance that lives in fairytales, and only survives between a non-existent princess and her equally non-existent prince. Of which, I am neither.  
  
Love. A lie.

"You're not weak, Izaya," Shizuo mutters. "I am."  
  
"Are you kidding?" I smirk, trying to lighten this overcast mood with a topic that does not send my mind into immediate panic. "Ne~ If I had half your strength I wouldn't be stuck in bed. I'd be ruling the world!"  
  
A half-smile does not do much to brighten the blond's features. "You know what I mean."  
  
Before I can control myself, our lips are only a breath apart as I press my forehead against his, drugged by the heat that soaks into my skull as a result.

Topic change failed.  
  
"We keep digging ourselves deeper..." I whisper.  
  
Keeping his head against mine, he pulls me closer for a moment, wrapping me in his heat; sensing everything I need from him right now. Everything that both calms and terrifies me. Everything I can't explain. Everything that I don't understand. Everything I don't want... even though I don't want to let it go either.  
  
"I don't care," he whispers back, lowering me into soft sheets without breaking contact.  
  
"Shizu-chan...?"  
  
"I don't."

A nervousness I've never experienced before quickly becomes overpowering. My body is screaming at me, reminding me that every cell is in excruciating pain, but my mind feels so foggy. My chest feels so... light. For once, I can block out the agony as it rages war to bring me down.  
  
I want to fight this.  
  
I _want_ Shizuo to save me.  
  
And I think... I might want to return the favor with more than just paying his debt.  
  
"Shizu-chan," I repeat feeling breathless.

"I... I don't regret this..."

Pressing his body against mine, he leans into me dangerously slow, his mouth slightly ajar as the space between us becomes thinner and thinner. My mind is screaming at me to take hold of my senses - to stop this madness before it consumes me. But damn it!  
  
An animalistic quality glows in his morning eyes.  
  
He's fucking hypnotic.

Irresistible to my curiosity.  
  
Just like ever enticing specimen before him, I feel a strong desire to have those soft lips - whose silky touch still burns my cheek - to have the same effect on my mouth.

It has been so long... so long since -

"Huh-?!"  
  
A knock at the door rips us apart, startling us both out of our skin.  
  
Shizuo is easily the first to compose himself, quickly wiping the wanton look from his face as he stands up, leaving me to get the door. For a minute, I struggle to catch my breath before leaning back into the mattress, feeling my heart pound against my palm as I clutch at my chest. All at once, the pain comes flooding back in, reminding me that I am practically lifeless with this fever.  
  
Instead, I should be thankful for being interrupted before doing something I would undoubtedly be kicking myself for later.  
  
No more than a moment later, Celty strides into the room with her usual ethereal elegance, producing a bottle of pills from her shadowy form. I take them with a shaky hand.  
  
My mind wanders.  
  
Hidden in a desk drawer is her head, forcing me to wonder if she's so lost in her love for Shinra that she cannot even sense her missing piece when it is right beneath her shadow. If so, it is just more confirmation that love is nothing but a trap, stealing everything we desire; replacing it with what is eventual brokenness as love leaves us alone.  
  
Be it old age or young tragedies, what makes love worth having when all it does is abandon us in the end?  
  
Snapping me out of my thoughts, I lit screen pops into my field of vision.  
  
I wince, unable to read the blurred symbols that she has typed.  
  
Shizuo catches this, reading for himself. "You're dehydrated," he says before adding, "Right... I was gonna get you something to drink."  
  
"Don't look at me like that," I warn the headless woman after the brute has exited my bedroom.  
  
I can feel her scrutinizing stare, giving me the same warning Shinra had. Chatty bastard had undoubtedly told her something. That, or she really knows me that well.  
  
"Don't, Celty. It isn't what you think."  
  
But it isn't exactly what I thought it was either.  


 

* * *

  
  
"Is it just me or was Celty acting strange?" Shizuo asks me once she's gone.

It took a lot to get her out the door once she figured out that things were anything but normal between me and Shizuo. Her suspicions toward me were shooting through the fucking roof.

Fortunately, the blond didn’t fully understand it, even if it was obvious that something was off.  
  
"You said the same thing about Shinra yesterday," I remind him, irritated that I still haven't been able to sleep, even with these pills infiltrating my system.

I don’t want to talk about it. A discussion will only lead us into unwanted trouble, and the next thing I know, I’ll be showing him how pathetic and helpless I am.  
  
"Sleep with her, too?" he asks me, completely serious.  
  
"Oh, yeah, Shizu-chan," I roll my eyes, scoffing, "Because headless chicks are _totally_ my thing."  
  
Frowning, he shakes his head, "It's hard to tell with you."  
  
I grimace, not sure if I‘m offended or just tired of this stupid day. "Sorry, I'll try to be less of a slut."  
  
"Hmpf..."  
  
"What?"  
  
Childishly dropping his eyes to his feet, Shizuo shakes his head again. "You twist everything I say!"  
  
"I've already told you it's the _way_ you say it."  
  
"I say things just like anyone else," he retorts.  
  
"Try about fifty percent less eloquently," I tease, wanting him to feel insulted for insinuating that I‘m some sort of floozy.  
  
He sighs. "I'm sorry, Flea... It's already past noon, and you haven't gotten much rest..."  
  
"Oh, so you've noticed?"  
  
"You should go to sleep. I'll leave for a while so I don't bother you."

My heart drops in my stomach at the idea of being in my left all by myself, even if I’ll be unconscious. He’s probably sick of me… all of my crass comments combined with my neediness. I’d be a little fed up too…  
  
"Ne? Shizu-chan doesn't have to leave."  
  
"Well... no..." he scratches the back of his head, "I know... but... I guess I don't want to distract you from getting better."  
  
"Obviously, I'm in no position to stop you if you have other things to do, Shizu-chan," I tell him clandestinely, seeing if he has hidden motives which he is unwilling to share with me.  
  
If putting words in his mouth proves to be the best method, that's exactly what I'll do.  
  
He growls, irritated with me for the way I purposely push his buttons until sending him into overdrive.  
  
"It's nothing like that!" he insists, "I'm just gonna go home for a little while, grab a change of clothes, and come back. Anyway, I'm all outta cigs, and-"  
  
"Shut up," I cut him off, playful despite it all. "I'm just messing with you."

Even if I don’t really want him to go…  
  
Shizuo's face falls. "What the hell, Izaya?!"  
  
"I just like to see you flustered," I giggle, unable to contain myself.  
  
"What?! Why?!"  
  
"It's kind of cute."  
  
Rosy pink heat rushes to his cheeks, showing that he is equal parts confused and surprised, making me wonder how anyone could possibly be intimidated by him. I bet if more women saw this side to him, he'd never have to worry about being alone again.  
  
"Pink is a good color on you, Shizu-chan," I tell him, closing my eyes. "So cute that I just don't think I can hate you anymore."  
  
Before I can hear his response, the need for sleep invades, finally stealing consciousness for the next several hours; leaving me to dream the impossible.  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahh! Thank you guys so much for enjoying this story, even though it's really old and I forget to update it on here all the time. I'm glad that there are new readers here and old ones coming back to it. That makes me genuinely happy and glad that I wrote it.

"You're not wearing your stupid butler outfit...?"  
  
"It's not stupid," Shizuo growls, helping me out of bed before I topple .  
  
"Then what happened to it?"  
  
He rolls his eyes. "Nothing. Just didn't feel like wearing it on my day off."  
  
Proud, I run my bleary eyes over his current getup, actually relieved to see nicely fitted jeans and a baseball tee of teal and white bringing out the yellow hue in his bright eyes.  
  
"Casual is a nice look for you," I smugly tell him, leaning against him as we slowly make our way down the hall.  
  
We stop at the stairs, which have my head spinning at the thought of going down them. Quickly reading into this, Shizuo squeezes my shoulder gently before scooping me off the floor, carrying me down the steps without affliction as he brings me close to his warmth.  
  
"Do you ever get cold?" I wonder.  
  
"Nah... only when it snows," he shakes his head. "Are you feeling well enough to eat?"

"Not really... not at the moment," I shrug as he places me down, helping me find balance when my feet hit the floor.  
  
In a matter of seconds, we're back to our usual place on the couch with his hand in my hair. It isn't particularly eventful, though it is a piece of my day I look forward to. It's a routine that I wouldn't mind keeping in my daily life.

"Hey, Izaya...?" he breaks the silence as usual - another thing I don't really mind.  
  
"Hm...?"  
  
"Do you ever get scared?" he wonders.  
  
I open my eyes to meet his, not meaning to give him such a concerned stare. "What kind of scared, Shizu-chan?" I ask him, immediately captivated by the question.  
  
"I dunno... Any kind, I guess..."  
  
"Is there something you're afraid of?"  
  
"Yeah," he nods, "But I'm not even sure what it is, or why it's bothering me... Do... do you ever feel like that?"  
  
Inhaling, I hold back from saying something stupid - something along the lines of, "Yes. Right now, and every time I'm near you."  
  
Instead, I say something entirely different. I say something I'm not sure I want him to know about me. "I'm terrified of dying. The possibility of there being nothing waiting for me after death... I hate that."  
  
"Really?" he seems surprised, "But you always do such dangerous things..."  
  
" _Did_ ," I correct him, mildly bitter. It's as if to say that I don't hate him, but I'm still mad at him. "The thing is, it's that danger - that rush - that makes a person feel alive."  
  
"Is that how you stop it from getting the best of you?"  
  
"Heh... right now I have migraines doing that. But no."  
  
"No?" he echoes.

"Ever heard of Rene Descartes? He was something of a philosopher who developed four steps for reasoning," I explain, digging into my knowledge of humanities, which have proven nothing short of useful since becoming a full-time information dealer. "They're generally just tools for knowledge, but they've been useful for their share of problem solving."  
  
"No idea who that is."  
  
I smile, not at all surprised. "I use his four steps to break things down. It's a useful tool for my profession."  
  
"What are they?"

Without hesitation, I begin to list them off. "Rule one: Never accept anything as true without solid facts. Hence why I’m an atheist. Two: Divide difficulties in question into as many categories as possible. In this case, take your fear and separate it into why you're scared, the fear itself, and what made you fear it to begin with, along with whatever other categories deem fitting. You follow?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Rule three, then. Begin with the simplest category and work step-by-step to the more complex. In other words, take the easiest section of the conflict and go up from there. Depending on who you are, admitting that there's a problem to begin with could be either the smoothest challenge, or the hardest, to solve. But I think you've gotten a head start on it anyway."  
  
"Really? How?" he shifts, already seeming more comfortable as I go on.  
  
"Maybe the easiest category was confessing, while the hardest is likely to be actually facing the fear."  
  
"Then what's step four?"  
  
I smile at his eagerness. "Make enumerations so complete, and reviews so general, to assure nothing is omitted. After you separate the conflict into categories, make sure you handle each one until they are no longer causing you your mental affliction, or - at least - allowing it to inhibit your daily life from continuing smoothly."  
  
"And you really use this stuff?"  
  
"For work, I tend to go through all four steps. For everything else... I've been known to skip one and four."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you can't really gather facts on emotions. Sure, there could be a letter or something, but most of the time... you can't really prove to anyone but yourself how you feel."  
  
"Tch... I know that one."

"It's just logical thinking in the end, ne? I mean, nobody can really tell you how to face your fears - or _when_ , for that matter. You do it when you're ready. Could be today, tomorrow, or even ten years from now."  
  
Shizuo shakes his head. "No. I can't wait that long."  
  
"Then don't."   
  
  


* * *

 

 

I know I’m a hypocrite; unable to follow my own advice as I offer it freely to the man I am supposed to loathe with a murderous passion (and vice versa).

I told Shizuo how to face his fears when I can’t even face my own, as there are things in this interesting world much more frightening than death; losing myself to another‘s will being one of them. Simply the thought both disgusts and terrifies me.

Descartes’ four steps have only ever been useful to me because I’ve never had to deal with feelings like these. I’ve been able to block them out, deny them, destroy them if I had to. Lately, doing exactly that is becoming more difficult.

My mind is screaming at me to knock it off.

‘Remember who you are, Orihara,’ it often speaks to me. ‘Don’t let his heat get to your head.’

I would argue that I haven’t forgotten if it weren’t for the sparks, shooting off like fireworks in my chest, every time my body came in contact with his. To think I’d almost kissed him…

And he wants to tell me that he’s the one who’s afraid?! That incompetent brute knows nothing of fear! I was wrong to ever think so!

What happens if I lose myself to this disgusting game of lust? What happens if Shizuo wins?

I refuse to allow it. Of all people to even consider being partnered with, I am far better than to accept Heiwajima Shizuo as a lover. He isn’t even remotely close to anything one might consider an intellectual. I refuse to believe my standards are set so low over a trivial substance such as the heat body against my own!

I don’t want this. I’ve never wanted this.

Affection is a trap. Love is a cage.

Well, sorry.

I’m already in one.

Currently, Shiki sits on my couch, waiting for my undivided attention while I make a payment toward Shizuo’s debt; keeping my eyes narrowed as I subtract the new amount from the former. There‘s still a long way to go for the both of us. Shizuo owes an outrageous amount of money, while I‘m still far from finding a cure.

Feeling the executive’s stony eyes fixated on me, I look up from my computer screen with an unprovoked scowl on my face.

“If you keep frowning like that, you’re going to look like an old man to go with your health,” he says in relation to my former comment about feeling like such.

“Trust me, my migraines are going to kill me long before I have wrinkles on my face,” I tell him, blinking away the anger beget by my hectic thoughts.

“Still thinking about that kiss, Orihara-san?”

“Shut up. You know nothing about it.”

Standing up, he walks over to where I sit in my swivel chair. Placing his hands on either armrest, he leans in close. I immediately realize that he is lacking in the same warmth as Shizuo. Void of tremendous heat; even showing in chilled, stormy eyes.

It’s a sad thought, but only backs my evidence that he was never right for me. And nobody ever should be.

“You’re slipping,” he tells me in a cruel tone that sends waves of nervous chills cutting down my spine.

“Slipping, maybe,” I give him a cold, heartless grin as I confess, “Not falling.”

“Yet.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s only a matter of time, Orihara-san.”

“What makes you so sure?” I sneer.

“Because you were never like this toward me. I’ve never once had you panicked. Or scared.”

“Fear is obsolete,” I lie. “Fear is death, Shiki-san.”

“It does you no good to be so stubborn. I should have known that someday there would exist a man who could catch you,” he chuckles calmly, “Who would have known Heiwajima-san didn’t even have to put up a fight.”

“I should have known not to get personal with you,” I mumble. “You’re misinterpreting me.”

“Oh, I hardly think so. Personally, I‘m glad that you‘re not at all impervious to human affection.”

“Shizu-chan is hardly human, and is therefore unworthy of my love.”

“You’re the one who lets him come back. You’re the one who needs him. As much as you‘d like to fight it, it‘s not the other way around.”

Pushing Shiki away from me, I stand up, sighing at his persistence. “Need and want are entirely different matters.”

“Yet they go hand-in-hand.”

“Why are you being so pushy about this?”

He smiles deviously, lighting a fresh cigarette. “Because I can’t wait for the day to come when I get to say I proved you wrong.”

Fed up with his clandestine antics, I shove a file into the executive’s hands. “Everything you need is in there,” I tell him, putting on a tone designed for business. “Now, with all do respect, Shiki-san, I have other matters to attend to and must ask you to make your leave.”

Satisfied, having just witnessed my frustration, Shiki does just that, smiling on the way out. I’m beginning to think Akabayashi’s insanity is affecting the man’s stoic rationality.

Then again, I’m the moron who invited Shizuo over for dinner tonight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I brought a cake…” the blond tells me shyly as I step aside to let him in. “I picked it up when I got off work… couldn’t say no.”

I am amused. “Oh? Thank you, Shizu-chan.”

He’s a bit fidgety. “I know you’re not fond of sweets, but…”

Taking the white box out of his hands, I smile, leading us into the kitchen where I can place it in the refrigerator; swapping it out for a bottle of vodka. I am in desperate need of a drink given the rush in my current thoughts.

“Cake has its charm from time to time,” I tell him. “It isn’t as if I hate sweets or anything. It’s a matter of staying healthy.” Shizuo gives me a strange look that makes me laugh just a little. I focus on the bottle in my hand as an example. “Not that I’m very healthy these days, ne?”

“Well… You look good,” he says, nervously scratching the back of his head.

“You think so?”

Kill them. Fucking kill the butterflies that have just taken flight in my chest. Kill them. Poison them. Burn them. Drown them. I don’t fucking care. And I care even less what he thinks of me.

Stepping closer, he reaches out, placing a warm hand on my cheek. Silently cursing myself for leaning into the touch, I bravely keep my eyes on his, masking my frustration.

“You do,” he smiles lightly. “Especially after that fever. You look a million times better.”

“Aye… last week was cruel.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Izaya…” he says shyly, moving on to admit, “Days when you don’t need me are kinda relieving… even if spending time with you isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be…”

An embarrassed hue of pink dusts is cheeks, showing his own disbelief in what he has just confessed to me.

“I’m glad it isn’t complete torture for you,” I say, deciding not to tease him over it for once.

I turn back to the meal I’ve been preparing for the past two hours, attempting to have it done in the next twenty minutes. I’m starving, and by the way Shizuo’s stomach has just growled, he is too.

“Hey, Flea…?”

“Yes?” I answer without looking up at him.

“You like hanging out with me right…? Now that we don’t hate each other?”

Finding it difficult to suppress a cheerful grin, I choose to continue hiding it from his golden view. I will never let this relationship sink into something so stupid as love; however, I will not deny the value of friendship freely offered.

This is dinner between friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I do,” I nod, pouring a generous amount of vodka into a glass, and some more into the sauce simmering in a pan.

“Good,” Shizuo returns in a hopeful tone, “Cause… I like hanging out with you too.”

Pushing away all thoughts of Heiwajima Shizuo being anything remotely close to cute, much less endearing, I stir the copious amount of vodka in with the sizzling marinara sauce. Focusing on my culinary skills is infinitely better than thinking about love and Shizuo - together.

“Anything I can do to help?” he queries, standing closer behind me than he was several seconds ago.

Quickly glancing around the kitchen, I search for something - anything - to keep him busy instead of close to me.

“Sure,” I nod, reaching over the counter with my free hand to pick up a cheese grater and a brick of parmesan. “And when you’re done, cut that bacon into chunks too.”

For a minute, I feel his eyes watching me observantly before I glance up to meet them.

“What?” I ask in all seriousness.

His expression is bringing Shiki’s recent words to life in my recent memory. I inwardly gag, silently reminding myself that I will prove that yakuza bastard wrong, even if it kills me. I am not falling for this blond and those beautiful eyes. I won’t.

“You just look…” Shizuo trails off, searching for the right term.

“Busy?” I tease.

“No! Well… that too! But… I dunno. You look intense.”

“Intense?” I echo, a bit taken aback.

“Yeah! You know…”

“No, I don’t,” I shake my head, setting my wooden spoon on the counter before I check the noodles.

His tiny smile breaks into a full-fledged grin. “You remind me of an artist,” he says happily, “Like you’re painting your masterpiece.”

Turning away is all I can do to hide the ferocious shades of red showing on my face.

“I haven’t cooked since falling ill,” I tell him, keeping hidden, “I’d like to make sure it’s perfect tonight. That‘s all…”

“It will be,” Shizuo assures me, slyly taking me by the wrist.

Gasping, I don’t fight him as he twirls me around, pushing my back against the counter; those eyes searching me for answers. Answers which lack questions.

We are exactly where we were a week ago, pressed against each other, about to do something stupid. Only this time, we are entirely without interruption…

Or so I thought…

The timer beeps, releasing a shrill noise into the tense air which immediately aggravates my head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I hiss, choking back my surprise as I slip out the blond’s arms.

Grabbing the tiny device, I turn it off as quickly as possible; carelessly banishing it to a miscellaneous location in the kitchen before motioning to cradle my head in my head as a dull throb awakens. I hope I smashed the thing.

“Shit,” I curse again, pulling myself together to pull the chicken out of the oven before it burns.

“I-Izaya? Are you okay?”

“Fine…” I mumble, focusing on anything but the pain. “I wasn’t thinking… Agh…”

I really hadn’t been. My mind has been too fucked up lately to pay attention to anything. The important things. The unimportant. It all just cycles back to the same thoughts, causing me to draw blanks at the wrong times; essentially screwing myself over in the end. My head is a mess, like a hoarder’s garage.

All of the caution and well-planned motives I used to have are gone, buried beneath layers of meaningless junk for thoughts. I’m forgetting them like yesterday’s weather.

“You’re hurting…?”

“I’ll be alright,” I insist, downing the rest of my drink in one swift gulp; hoping the alcohol can at least dull the future migraine. “Let’s not allow this to ruin our night, ne?”

“No… of course not,” Shizuo remains skeptical, eyeing me warily as I fight through the upcoming agony.

I ignore it, thinking it better to carry on with the meal I’ve invested my time in. I won’t let tonight be destroyed. I won’t. I’ve felt so good today, if not a bit irritated, and I don’t want this to go to waste. Whatever it may take, I’ll put this affliction back to sleep. I won’t keep losing, no matter how nice it would be to just throw in the towel.

But… just to be on the safe side…

Turning back to finish what’s left of the cooking, I am not at all surprised to feel a pair of Ikebukuro’s strongest arms tighten protectively around my waist. Shizuo presses his chest into my back, using his heat to prevent what is sure to come. Putting it off is all I can hope for right now. It’s as if he is protecting me; shielding me from a destructive monster that is determined to eat me alive.

“Don’t get sick again,” he pleas, like I can do anything to prevent it by myself. We both know I’ve already tried absolutely everything. “Don’t… I can’t stand to see you hurting anymore. I can’t stand to see you in pain…”

There’s a desperation in his voice I’ve never heard before, knowing it’s out of my control; taking my body by storm. These migraines, like a vengeful tempests, are difficult to sway. Each one only weakens me more than the one before it, breaking me down, even in the eyes of the former enemy.

“A month and a half ago, you’d be trying to put me in such a state,” I sigh, wishing to go back to the past for various reasons.

Which part of my past I want to go back to still remains something of a mystery, but the past nevertheless.

“That was then,” he mumbles apologetically. “This is now.”

 


End file.
